


Convalescence

by lumbeam



Series: The Journey Itself Is Home [4]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: (guess from who), Anxiety, Bathing/Washing, First Impressions, Hair Washing, Hand Jobs, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, In Vino Veritas, Injury Recovery, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved, Vague Depictions Of Wound Care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-08 09:39:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21473902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumbeam/pseuds/lumbeam
Summary: (Post-Blessed are the Peacemakers)“I been thinkin’ about that hunting trip,” Arthur muttered, resting his shoulder against Charles’ calf.“You think you’re up for it?”“I dunno, but if I have to stay ‘round camp one more day, I might go back to Colm.” It was meant to be a joke, but the tone came off wrong. Especially since no one in camp, not even Arthur, really knew what happened in that three day period.“...I hope you don’t mean that.”“I don’t.” He sighed. Resting his temple slightly on Charles’ knee, he watched the logs burn in the fire. “I want to go, though. Sooner the better.”
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith
Series: The Journey Itself Is Home [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1480901
Comments: 41
Kudos: 184





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> maybe one day I'll be better with titles/descriptions but today is not that day.
> 
> i will add tags as i continue the story. as it was with "a fool's endeavor," the violence won't be much outside of what happens in game. 
> 
> okay! thank you! :)

“Just focus. Take your time. That deer isn’t going anywhere.”

Arthur’s arm shook as he tried to steady the bow. “I _ am _ focusing. I can’t get the arrow to--” He stopped speaking, as if the silence could help him keep his arrow lined up with the deer’s hindquarters.

The two of them had been watching the doe for a few minutes now, grazing along the pasture. This was the third try for him to get the arrow to even leave the bow.

It was proving to be more difficult than he liked. 

“God_ damnit _,” Arthur grumbled, his hurt arm causing him to lower the bow back down. He hung his head, taking a moment to breathe. Charles waited, keeping an eye on the deer.

It had been about a month since Arthur was kidnapped.

He wasn’t expecting his strength to be back to how it was before all of it, but the very least he wanted to be able to hold his damn bow up. Now it seemed he couldn’t even do that. 

Charles picked up the arrow from the ground. “Here, let’s try this again.”

“Charles,” Arthur griped, rubbing at his arm. “You can’t be serious--”

“Do you trust me?”

He stopped rubbing. “...Yes.”  
  
“Then try again.” He handed him the arrow. “Use your other arm this time.” A gentle command, spoken with no malice.

“Ya mean switch the bow?”

He nodded.

Arthur switched the bow to the other hand. 

The night where they shared a kiss through the cigarette smoke was the last time they kissed. That next day, Arthur didn’t come back after the supposed “peace offering” with Colm O’Driscoll. It was a set up, all a ploy to trap the Van der Linde gang.

Arthur said he didn’t remember much of what happened when he was captured, consciousness ebbing and flowing along with the waves of pain in his shoulder. He certainly remembered getting shot and getting strung upside down. The rest of it, including how he escaped, was essentially lost in the folds of his brain. 

Charles couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth. For his sake, he hoped he was out for most of it.  
  
He was gone for three days. The camp’s infrastructure seemed to collapse in on itself. Dutch kept telling them not to worry, that Arthur will come back. Or, after an unspecified amount of time, he’d take it upon _ himself _ to find Arthur.

Charles discussed with John the prospect of a search team. “He went lookin’ for me back in the mountains.” John said, arms folded. He didn’t meet Charles’ eyes. “I just hope it’s not too late for me to return the favor.” He said it with such a weight to it, as if he believed Arthur was already dead. Then, on the night they were going to leave, Arthur collapsed back into camp.

As Dutch shoved his way through the members of the camp gathering around him, he quickly put on his ringleader persona. All the fanfare for an audience who was barely alive. He ordered Miss Grimshaw to treat the wound, something that proved to be more difficult than any of them thought. “Sorry, Mr. Morgan--” Susan whispered, picking out shrapnel from his shoulder with delicate tweezers. The wound was risking infection. She ordered Mary-Beth to get a bucket and clean water and some iodine, trying to clean out the edges of the wound. _ Something _ to make it salvageable. Charles heard Arthur groan as she pressed a rag with rubbing alcohol into his shoulder. “I know, I know.” She said softly. Her tone and demeanor was something rarely seen by the camp. Not even when John was saved from the wolves was she this gentle. She stitched up his wound, shushing him at each pull of the fishing line. His body was covered in bruises. She dreaded to think of what the O’Driscolls did to him. 

The first week was difficult for everyone. Arthur slept for most of it. Miss Grimshaw watched his chest rise and fall as he slept, just to ensure he was still living. Mary-Beth and Karen washed his blankets and redressed his bandages, blood still seeping out from the stitches. 

Charles, trying to keep a distance so the women could help Arthur, forced himself to stay busy. He chopped wood, giving the camp enough firewood to last them clean through next winter. He fed the horses, making sure to take extra care of Beeve. He even rode him a couple of times to the general store, either to pick up supplies for Susan or supplies for Pearson. He patted the horse, who seemed all right, if a little confused to not have Arthur riding him. 

At the start of the second week, the stitches came out, but his wounds were still weeping slightly. Arthur was also able to sleep through the night, allowing Susan to get some much-needed sleep herself. She still kept herself close enough, only a few yards from his tent if need be. One night, Charles crept into his tent. He pulled up the chair Susan had been using for days on end. He reached his hand out, wrapping his fingers around Arthur’s wrist. He listened in on Arthur’s steady breathing. The man seemed to notice this touch was different than Susan’s. He set his other hand on top of Charles’, squeezing slightly. Charles moved his chair closer, knees pressing to the edge of the cot. His thumb stroked Arthur’s wrist.

“Charles,” he rasped, throat dry.

He looked at Arthur in the low light. His cheeks were sunken in, from what he could tell through his ever-growing bushy beard. His skin felt cold.

Charles furrowed his brows, not knowing what to say to him. Or, really, _ if _ he should say anything to him right now. He squeezed his wrist. 

All he found were the words, “I’m sorry I haven’t been around.” He spoke softer than a whisper.

“S’okay,” he breathed, too tired to say anything else. 

“When you get better,” he leaned closer to Arthur, “Let’s go on that hunting trip.”

Arthur nodded, drifting back off to sleep. He still kept his grip on Charles’ hand. 

Charles woke up hours later, their fingers intertwined. He slipped his hands out from Arthur’s, making his way out of the tent before everyone else woke up. He switched his guard duties with Javier to keep an eye on Arthur. They spent their time holding hands, maybe having a conversation or two. Other times, Charles sat next to him, taking solace in the steady rhythm of his breathing. 

Micah was up one time when Charles left Arthur’s area. He didn’t bring it up until later, when Charles was conveniently sharpening his axe blade. “Hey _ Indian, _ ” he announced, gnawing at the edge of a toothpick. Charles acted like he didn’t hear him. “I said, _ hey Ind-- _”

Charles couldn’t bear to hear Micah again, so he looked up from his weapon. He needed to give Micah only the smallest bit of attention.  
  
“Saw you gettin’ _ real _ cozy with that gimpy cowpoke.”

Charles went back to sharpening his blade. “And?”

Micah scoffed, as if what he was trying to say was obvious. “_ And _ , it looked pretty…” He stopped to think of the right word. “ _ Intimate. _”

“I was just caring for a friend, although I’m sure you’re not used to how that looks.”

Micah laughed humorlessly. “Looks like we got a comedian on our hands! Real _ funny _.” He stalked away, surely to go tell on Dutch what he saw. Not that it was anyone’s business.

Things got easier. Arthur was able to keep more than just broth down, moving onto solid foods. Soon enough, he was able to dress himself (if a little clumsily; a lot of half-buttoned shirts around the third week) and stand while peeing. His arm still wasn’t back to normal. His dexterity in his left hand was awkward still, not to mention the near-constant sharp pain in his shoulder. He still needed to dress his wounds twice a day, something that he finally told Mary-Beth he could do himself. He developed a new tic of winding his arm around, trying desperately to get the crick out of his shoulder. It never did work.

There was still a ways to go, but Arthur was alive. And that was enough for Charles.

By the fourth week, Arthur was pretty much back to his normal self. He was able to stay up and about for most of the day, do gentle tasks around camp such as feeding the chickens, and even write a little in his journal. 

One night, he and Charles talked at the campfire. Arthur sat on the ground, resting against one of the logs that provided some much-needed back support. Charles sat on the log near him, although over time they moved closer and closer. 

“I been thinkin’ about that hunting trip,” Arthur muttered, resting his shoulder against Charles’ calf.  
  
“You think you’re up for it?”

“I dunno, but if I have to stay ‘round camp one more day, I might go back to Colm.” It was meant to be a joke, but the tone came off wrong. Especially since no one in camp, not even Arthur, really knew what happened in that three day period.

“...I hope you don’t mean that.”

“I don’t.” He sighed. Resting his temple slightly on Charles’ knee, he watched the logs burn in the fire. “I want to go, though. Sooner the better.”

“Do you think I’ll need to teach you how to use your bow again?”

“Mm, maybe. Hope you don’t mind.”

Charles covertly ran his hand to the back of Arthur’s neck. He squeezed, massaging the nape. “Not at all.” He said softly, pressing the pads of his fingers down.

Arthur groaned softly. “That feels nice.”

“Easy with the sounds, cowboy. Don’t want anyone to think they’re hearing something else.”

“M’sorry,” he whispered. “Jus’ feels so _ good _. Can’t ‘member the last time I got a massage.”

Charles scoffed but continued to rub his neck. He felt Arthur put more and more weight against his leg. “You fallin’ asleep on me?”

“No,” Arthur lied.

Charles pulled his hand away. “You should probably go talk to Dutch if you want to leave tomorrow.”

Arthur groaned, first stretching and standing with the support of the log. “Fine, fine.” He went over to Dutch’s tent. Molly was nowhere to be found, although Arthur didn’t remember hearing any fighting from them today.

“Hey Dutch,” Arthur greeted. He still was rubbing at the back of his neck, trying to replicate Charles’ touch. 

“Evening Arthur,” Dutch finished up the paragraph. “Evelyn Miller--” He held up the cover of the book to Arthur, not that Arthur would read something so stuffy. “Hard to tear your eyes away from the page.”

“I’m sure.” Arthur leaned against the post. “Listen, me an’ Mr. Smith were gonna go on a hunting trip. We’re leavin’ tomorrow.”

“And will this _ trip _ be as long as the other one?”

“Nah, prolly only a few days. Need to learn how to use a bow again.”

“And when you say a _ few _ days--”

“I mean three. Four tops.”

Dutch nodded slowly, looking at Arthur warily. “How’s your arm doing?”

Arthur looked down at his shoulder, checking to make sure it wasn’t bleeding through his shirt. “Gettin’ a little better every day.”

“Glad to hear it, son. Soon you’ll be back to your prime, don’t you worry.”

“That’s what I hope for.”

“Well, I’m sure Mr. Smith will whip you back into shape.”

What an image. Certainly one Arthur moved right past in this moment. “M’sure of it.”

Dutch nodded, picking his book back up again. “Here’s hoping it’s a successful outing. Now, if you’ll excuse me--” He opened back to where he was before, immediately engrossed in Miller’s flowery prose.

He caught eyes with Charles as he was going back to his lean-to. He gave him a nod.

The trip was a go. 

\--

Which led to now, with Arthur struggling on using the other arm to pull the bow tight against him. Charles figured it would be easier, given the location of his still-tender wound. Injured shoulder or not, it felt odd. Like wearing shoes on the wrong feet, or walking backwards.

“Is that any better?” Charles asked, making a note of his stance. He seemed to handle the bow better this way.

“Guess so.”

With his arm shaking, he let go of the bow. It landed about ten feet too short, causing the deer to hop away. 

“_ Shit-- _ ” Arthur swore through gritted teeth.  
  
“Here, let’s try something simpler.” Charles said calmly, going out to find the arrow. “Try and aim for the tree.”

“_ Which _ tree?” Arthur asked, a little more aggravated than he should be.

“The dead one with the big knot in it.” Charles found the cast off arrow, sticking out of the dirt. 

“Ah, the one twenty feet away.”

Charles noticed his tone. “Unless you wanna challenge yourself even _more_.”

“Nah, this is enough.” Arthur walked up to the tree, examining it. He counted his paces from where he was before.

If it were in different circumstances, he’d probably sketch the tree. He was fascinated by all the holes from woodpeckers, precisely drilled in rows and lines up and down the entire surface.

The knot as well made it truly unavoidable. Or at least Arthur hoped.

Charles passed the arrow back to Arthur, moving behind him, just close enough to help square his shoulders. “Feeling okay?” His hands felt nice on his shoulders, feather light, just enough to make his presence known. 

“Okay enough.” Arthur grumbled, his arm struggling to stay still. 

“Whenever you’re ready.” Charles took a few steps back, crossing his arms. A silent surveyor.

Arthur exhaled slowly, calming himself down. He let go of the arrow.  
  
It didn’t hit the knot, more near the base. Arthur groaned, hanging his head. 

Charles watched him go and pick the arrow out of the tree. If nothing else, it was wedged in pretty good. He noticed his pensive look. “What’s on your mind?”

“What do ya think?” Arthur asked, walking back to put the arrow with the rest of the hunting supplies, now cast aside by a different tree. 

“You _ did _ hit the tree--”

“Yeah, but I didn’t--didn’t hit the _ goddamn _ thing I was aimin’ for.” Arthur rubbed at his shoulder. 

Tentatively, Charles reached out to touch him. “Is your shoulder--”

“S’fine, dressing’s _ fine _. You don’t gotta take care of me all the time.”

Charles pulled his hand away, clenching his jaw. Nothing he could do or say in that moment would help. It’d be best to leave him to brood. “I’ll set up camp.” Gathering up the supplies, he went to find a clearing in the forest. He clicked his tongue, and the two horses followed along. 

Then it was just Arthur, rubbing his shoulder. It was more of an absentminded maneuver at this point; something to do while his brain was churning. 

He sighed heavily, waiting for his shame to subside. 

After a few minutes, he followed the sound of clattering and the rustle of fabric through the woods.

Charles was setting up the canvas tent, his back turned to him. Arthur kept his arms folded, words lodged in his throat.

“Can I—” his voice sounded strange, his throat tight. “Do ya want any help?”

Charles kept his back turned. “No.” He jammed a spike into the ground. 

Arthur busied himself anyway, kneeling to start the fire. At least there was _ something _ he could still do. Soon enough, the crackling campfire served as a soundtrack to their silence. He dug around his satchel for a bit. Lots of canned food. “Listen, I got canned beans—”

“I was going to catch something.” Charles cut him off. He tossed the bedrolls inside the tent. As he gathered his bow and arrows, Arthur got up off the ground. He took a lot of care to only lift himself up using his good arm.  
  
“Wait, wait, Charles—” Arthur said nervously. He stood in front of him, blocking him. “I’m--I’m sorry.”

Charles stared back at him, tilting his head up a little. Looked like there needed to be more than just a “sorry.” 

“Listen, can we just—” He sighed, hanging his head for a second. Starting over. “Jus’ sit with me for a second?”

Looking at Arthur’s posture — slightly crouched, as if he were approaching a timid fox, desperate to be gentle — Charles nodded slightly. He set down his bow and arrows, going over to the fire. They didn’t exactly need the warmth or light, not yet, but it was a welcome image. 

Arthur, instead of staring at the fire as he did after they first kissed, faced Charles. He sat cross-legged, hands idly playing with the fraying hem of his sleeve. “Charles,” he said, in almost a whisper. Beckoning to his attention.

Charles peeled his eyes from the fire, finally looking over at him. Arthur’s eyes darted away when they met with his own, if only for a second. 

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, trying to decide what to say. “M’sorry about how I was earlier.” 

Charles waited, watching him. He clearly had more to say, even though he looked uncomfortable saying it.

He tipped his chin low, hiding his eyes under the brim of his hat. “I’m just—just so goddamn _ tired _ of feelin’ useless. Feel like such a damn _ nuisance _.” Charles waited for more of an explanation, but it never came. 

Finally, after putting a warm hand over Arthur’s, Charles leaned in. “You’re hardly a nuisance. Bull-headed and stubborn, maybe—”

A small smile peeked out from under his hat. “Definitely that.” It disappeared, replaced with worry. 

Charles took off Arthur’s hat, removing his shield. His hair was getting shaggy, only further emphasized by the lack of pomade. “And you’re not useless.” 

“You’re just _ sayin’ _ that to be nice.” Arthur shook his head. 

“Do you see me as dishonest?” Charles asked, already knowing the answer.

A pause. “No.”

“Then why don’t you believe what I say to be true?”

Arthur shrugged his shoulders. Again, no further explanation. 

Charles put a hand on his shoulder, which felt a little bonier than he remembered the last time he touched him like this. “I would never lie to you, Arthur.” The sincerity caused Arthur to look up at Charles. As always, he found no malice, no snideness. Just Charles. 

He wrapped his hand around Charles’ wrist. “I believe you.” He said, giving his wrist a squeeze. 

“Good.” Charles smiled. He reciprocated the hand squeeze. “Want to keep me company while I find our dinner?”  
  
Arthur smiled goofily, feeling a weight rise from off his heart. “Thought you’d never ask.”

—

They (as in Charles, with Arthur observing) managed to snag a particularly fat rabbit. As always, Charles made it look effortless. He dug the arrow out of the animal. A perfectly clean kill.

“Could you help me skin this?” Charles asked, although Arthur really knew he didn’t need help. It was more a test to see if Arthur’s shoulder could handle it. 

“Sure.” Arthur crouched down next to him. Skinning rabbits wasn’t exactly a new thing. When he was a boy, his dad taught him how to shoot a gun, moving quickly from bottles to squirrels. And then, when he was definitely too small, his dad made him skin a rabbit he shot. It was one thing to kill something, but it was another to peel away the skin from the muscles. He had a hard time with the process; his hands were too small and the blood was too slick. Finally, his dad got impatient with him and tore the rest of the hide off the rabbit. Arthur could still remember the sound it made. 

This time, with his hands much larger and slightly more deft (at least for his right hand), he tore away the skin without much trouble. The pain in his shoulder seeped down to his hand, a dull burning feeling. He clenched the bloody rabbit pelt in his fingers.

“Did that hurt?”

Arthur shook his head, lying. 

Patting him on the other shoulder, he said, “I told you not all was lost.” 

“Maybe not.” Arthur let up on his grasp from the pelt. “Prolly should cook this.”

Charles stood, reaching his hand out for Arthur to grab. They walked the short distance back to their camp, the rabbit slung over Arthur’s shoulder. 

\--

Arthur insisted on cooking dinner. “C’mon, it’s the least I can do.” He managed to snag one of the grill grates from Pearson while he wasn’t looking. It was certainly a step up from eating off of his knife. He even bothered to pack a couple of plates and silverware. Some semblance of civilization.

While grinding up some basil to rub on the rabbit, he looked over at Charles. He looked pensive, or more pensive than usual. For a second, he admired the light of the fire playing along the slopes of his face. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

He looked up at Arthur, his expression softening when his eyes met his. “I just realized I never thanked you for the drawing.”

Arthur tucked his chin down, trying to focus back on making dinner. That felt like such a long time ago. “Oh, _ that _.” He didn’t forget about it; part of him was strangely hoping that Charles wouldn’t say anything. “You don’t gotta thank me.”

“But I want to thank you.” Charles scooted towards Arthur. “You’re very talented, you know.”

Arthur tongued the corner of his mouth, smiling slightly out of embarrassment. “If you say so.” He cleared his throat, putting the cuts of rabbit onto the grill. “It was a ‘thank you’ for puttin’ up with savin’ me so many times.”

Charles smiled. “That’s just my lot in life, it seems.”

Arthur stole a glance at him, unable to keep his smile contained. He felt a lightness in his chest that hadn’t been there since he was kidnapped. “An’ now I just realized I didn’t thank ya for the bracelet.”

Shaking his head slightly, he looked down at Arthur’s satchel. The bracelet was dusty, although thankfully still intact, even post-O’Driscolls.

He flipped the rabbit meat on the grill with his knife. “I’m too afraid to wear it on my wrist.”

“Why is that?”

Shrugging, he said, “Guess I’m just afraid of breakin’ it.”

Charles nodded, mind racing with bracelets and bands that would be more durable for a man like Arthur. “Fair enough.”

After digging through his satchel, he found a couple cans of mixed vegetables. He opened them and placed them on the grill. Not much else to do but wait until the food was hot enough. He sat back next to Charles and sighed. It wasn’t a sigh of sadness, or of world weariness, or of frustration. It was a calm sigh. Everything seemed in its right place. 

Soon enough, the humble meal was ready. He watched Charles take the first bite of the rabbit, worried about his cooking skills. He nodded slightly, approving of it. Only then did Arthur take a bite. Not bad, if he did say so himself. He took a bite of a crumbly bread roll Charles brought along. 

He could hear Charles chuckle. “What is it?” He asked, a mouth full of bread and rabbit.

Charles stirred his can of vegetables. “Your beard is getting long enough to store food.”

Absentmindedly, Arthur wiped a hand through his beard, clearing the crumbs out. “Yeah, I s’pose it is. If it gets any longer, an animal might start livin’ in it.” 

“As if there isn’t one already living there now.”

“What, you sayin’ you don’t like my beard?”

Charles took a bite of rabbit. “As long as you like it.” A perfectly polite way of saying _ he _ didn’t like it. 

Arthur scratched at his face. Sure, it was pretty long. And itchy. Up until now, he’d been too caught up in _ other things _ than to worry about his facial hair. Like, say, trying to live. He took another bite of his roll, his beard catching the crumbs again. He saw Charles shake his head as he brushed his beard out.

“Yeah, I prolly should trim it.”

Charles set down his empty plate. “Do you need help?”

“Ya don’t _ have _ to--”

“It isn’t about whether or not I have to. It’s if you need it.”

Arthur thought about earlier, about how he reacted in anger when Charles tried to help him. Swallowing his pride, he said, “I _ might _ need help.” Even just saying it with a “might” was difficult for him, like milking a stone. 

Charles scraped his fork at the bottom of the vegetable can. “I’ll see if I can find my shears.”

“Might have some in my saddlebag if ya can’t find ‘em.”

“You got a mirror?”

“Mm. Don’t think so.”

Charles found his scissors in his rucksack. He walked back, absentmindedly snipping along. “That’s okay, s’long as you trust me to trim it evenly.”

Arthur shrugged. “An’ even if ya don’t, that’s okay.” 

Charles sat in front of Arthur, their knees touching. “Ready?”

“Sure.” It sounded more like “shoar.” It always struck Charles in an amusing way.  
  
Carefully, he snipped away at Arthur’s beard, taking time to brush it off the front of his shirt. “Sorry.” 

“No matter, I ain’t gotta impress anyone.” 

“Yeah,” he held his breath, snipping the hairs along Arthur’s jawline. “I’m not Mary.” Enough of his beard was gone so that Charles could see the tension in his clenched teeth.

“You sure ain’t.” Arthur stated, keeping his voice level. 

“What’s the story between you an’ her?”

Arthur scoffed. “‘Story.’ It ain’t some tragic tale of love or nothin’.”

Charles found that a little hard to believe. He saw her picture by his bedside table, only more recently obscured. He saw how he poured over the letter she wrote for him, reading it over and over as if the intricate script would change.

“Could have fooled me.” _ Snip _. Charles’ eyes met Arthur’s. “I remember how you looked when you came back from helping her.”

“How do you know I helped her?”

Charles clicked his tongue. “I could just tell.” A moment went by. “Well, Mary-Beth and Karen let me in on where you were.”

Arthur tilted his head back. “You were askin’ ‘bout me?”

Charles, in his discovery of all these new feelings towards Arthur, looked back on situations like that. Feeling comforted by Arthur’s presence, and feeling a noticable difference when he was away from camp. Maybe, just a little, he _ knew _. “I was just curious, I s’pose.” He offered.

“Mm.” 

Charles snipped some more hair away. Arthur ran a hand down his cheek. “S’gettin’ pretty close to how I like it.”

“Let me even it out a little.” He brushed off more stray hair from Arthur’s shirt.

Some time passed. Arthur breathed shallowly, contemplating what to say. Charles waited, extending the beard trimming, worrying that if he stopped Arthur would clam up again.

He sighed. “I did...I _ did _ love her, I’m not gonna lie to you. Hell, I was gonna _ marry _ her--” A smile crept on his face, almost incredulous of his own strange path in life. “But she knew I weren’t gonna change, an’ maybe the other way around.” He furrowed his brows for a moment. “And I admit, I s’pose seein’ her again after all this time was like some kinda...kinda--you know that experiment? With the slobberin’ dogs and the dinner bell?”

“Mm, sounds familiar.”

“Seein’ her was kinda like that.” 

“You were drooling for her.”

He laughed despite himself, rolling his eyes. “No, you--ya know what I _ mean _\--”

Charles smiled. “I know.”

“It was just-- it was like my heart stopped for a moment. Like I was hypnotized or somethin’. But then we got to talkin’. And then--then I snapped out of it.”

Nodding, Charles finally set down the scissors. No point in keeping up the ruse that he was still trimming his beard.

Arthur ran a hand over his face. “Not bad, Charles. Thanks.” 

He couldn’t help but admire the way Arthur touched his face. He wanted to touch him, but he kept his hands close for now. “Any time.”

“Anyway, sorry for ramblin’. I figured you were gonna ask ‘bout her sooner or later.”

“I like listening to you.”

Arthur shook his head, trying to shake off the compliment. “..Sure.” 

Charles’ eyes looked down at Arthur’s shoulder. “How is it?”  
  
Arthur rubbed gently at the still tender wound. “S’okay, I guess. Think I might need to redress it.”

“Do you need--” 

Arthur shook his head. “I got it. You’ve done more than enough for me in this day alone than I could even think of.”

The embers of the fire were starting to die. “Want to go into the tent?”

Arthur nodded.

\--

Charles watched Arthur slowly unbutton his shirt, shrugging it off of his shoulders. As he wriggled his arm out of his union suit, Charles busied himself by placing the bedrolls next to each other. There was still plenty of light from the fire glowing through the tent. Arthur unwound the bandages. No weeping from his wound. A good sign. What luck that Susan managed to stave away infection. He’ll have to write her a thank you letter when they get back. 

“Might not have to wrap it up again.” Arthur gingerly felt around the wound with his index and middle finger.

“Really?” Charles asked, tugging off his boots. He looked over to find Arthur trying to touch it. “Does it feel any better?”

Arthur, shrugging with his good shoulder, said, “Depends on what I’m doin’. It don’t hurt right now.”

Charles also got out of his clothes, right down to his union suit. It was a little chilly, even with the tent blocking what it could of the wind. He settled down on his bedroll. “Were you going to write anything?”

Arthur sighed, slipping his arm back into his sleeve. “Prolly not. Not much to write about ‘cept that I hit a tree.”

Getting an image of him writing when he was finally able to sit up in bed, Charles asked, “What did you write about after the first week?”

Arthur paused. “I don’t...really remember.” He crawled over to his satchel, pulling out his journal. He flipped to the most recent pages. He read it quietly, pouring over the carefully scrawled out words of his capture and torture, at least what he could remember of it. He sketched out a picture of his injury, a black hole of graphite that ripped through the page. Even now, a few weeks out from writing it, it felt like he was a different person. He wasn’t sure if it was growth or regression.

“Arthur?” Charles asked, noticing Arthur’s expression growing more concerning at the page. “Are you okay?”

Shutting the book closed, he tossed it back into his satchel. “M’not sure if I can read all that now.”

Charles rubbed at Arthur’s knee softly. “I’m sorry, it was my fault I asked.”

Shaking his head, he said, “It weren’t your fault. You didn’t know what was in there.”

“I should have had a pretty good guess.” 

“S’okay.” Arthur laid down next to Charles. “You meant no harm.”

Charles slung a blanket over the two of them. It smelled of horses, but they didn’t mind. Could be worse. Arthur scooted towards Charles until he was practically on his bedroll. 

“You cold?” He asked, wrapping his arm around him.

Arthur nodded, his jaw rubbing against the crook of Charles’ neck.

“Face is cold, too.” 

“What, because of your beard being gone?”  
  


“Yeah,” Arthur placed a kiss on Charles cheek.  
  
“Prickly.” He ran a thumb down his jaw.  
  
“You’re the one who wanted me to get it trimmed!” Arthur said a little defensively.  
  
Charles kissed Arthur on his stubbled cheek. “I know.”

They held each other, getting warm under the covers. “Hey Charles?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for....well, you know. All of this.”

Charles smiled at Arthur’s succinct way of speaking. “You’re welcome.”  
  
Arthur tilted his head up, kissing Charles on the lips. “Almost forgot what that felt like.”

“Did you, now?” Charles kissed him back softly. Arthur made a satisfied noise. 

“Yeah.” He held Charles tighter. “I did.” Charles kissed his temple, stroking his cheek.

He drifted off to sleep, head resting on Charles’ pillow.

\--

_ Arthur woke to the feeling of a boot kicking his ribs. “Wakey wakey, Sleepin’ Beauty!” A man with a thick Irish accent shouted. _  
_  
_Arthur coughed, trying to catch his breath. His eyes snapped open, only to find a gang of O’Driscolls surrounding his bedroll. The tent was gone. More importantly --

_ “Ch--Char--” Arthur started to gasp out before an O’Driscoll stepped on his chest, dangerously close to his shoulder. _

_ “What,” a different O’Driscoll chimed in, “You looking for your friend?” _

_ “I think you mean _ boyfriend _ .” Another spat out. “We got an invert on our hands.” _

_ “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” the man pressed his boot further down into his chest. “He ran as soon as he could. ‘Sides, we ain’t lookin for him.” _

_ “No--no--” Arthur gasped, vision blurring as the O’Driscoll pressed the tip of his boot into the gunshot wound. All he could do was yell. _

_ “You think you really got away from us?” One of the men shouted over Arthur. “You think Colm would let you get away that easily?” _

_ “All we had ta do was wait until you were out of camp.” The man stepping on him sneered. “C’mon, let’s take him back to Colm.” _

_ Arthur struggled under the man’s boot, desperate to scramble away. He dug his nails into the mud, moving nowhere. _

_ “Stop _ squirming _ !” Another shouted, kicking Arthur upside the head. His vision went black. _

\--

The next thing he knew, he was back in the tent, Charles shaking at his clammy body. “Arthur, _ Arthur _! It’s okay, it’s okay. It was just a nightmare.”

Arthur felt like his lungs weren’t working. He gasped for air. His hands grabbed onto Charles’ union suit.

Charles helped Arthur sit up. He rubbed at his back. He was shaking.

“O--O’Driscolls,” Arthur said finally as he sighed out a deep breath. “They--they were _ here-- _”

Charles softly shushed him as he rubbed circles on his back. “It’s okay, Arthur. Everything is okay.”

“An’ you _ abandoned _ me,” his breath stuttered, “least that’s what they said--”

Charles moved to sit in front of Arthur, trying to get him in a calmer space. “Arthur, breathe with me.” He put a hand on his chest. His heart was beating erratically. “Okay?”

Arthur nodded, eyes not focused on Charles. He kept focusing on the sliver of light coming through the tent flap.

Charles looked back. “What do you need?” He took his hand off of his chest. “Do you want fresh air?”

“I think so--” Arthur said weakly. 

Charles opened up the flap, beckoning for Arthur to sit near the entrance. After a moment, Arthur crawled and sat next to Charles. He felt the cool air on his skin. The light he was seeing was from the full moon, causing the tall trees around them to have an almost silvery glow on the leaves. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes. Focused on the moon’s glow, on the rustling of the tree leaves, on Charles’ soft touch. He opened his eyes. 

“Do you need anything to drink?” Charles asked.  
  
“Water.” His throat felt dry and raspy.

He dug out his canteen and handed it over to him. Arthur drank the entirety of the canteen. “Sorry,” he said, screwing the cap back on. 

“It’s okay.” Charles wiped a bead of sweat off of Arthur’s forehead. “Do you want to lay back down?”

“Sure.” He stole one last glimpse of the moon before he crawled to his bedroll. 

Arthur laid on his bedroll, staring up at the canvas tent. Still thankful it was intact.  
  
“Are you feeling better?” Charles asked, voice quiet. 

“I think so.” Arthur sighed. He furrowed his brow. “I thought I was done havin’ nightmares.”

Charles turned towards him more. “When was the last time you had one?”

“Couple a weeks ago.”

Charles thought for a moment. “It’s your first time out of the camp in weeks.”

“Mm. Might have been the reason.” Arthur felt himself slipping away into sleep. Charles heard the steady breathing, relieved he was able to breathe normally. Soon enough, heard soft snoring on Arthur’s side of the bed. Charles fell back asleep as well, listening to the rustling of the trees.

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! life has been wild!!!! but i'm back, babey! enjoy! :)

Arthur woke up on his own in the late morning. After a brief moment of fear when he saw Charles’ bedroll unoccupied, he heard the clang of the coffee pot outside. Stretching, he crawled out of the tent with his good arm.

Unlike his nightmare, the surrounding area was peaceful. He breathed in deeply, focusing on the calming sounds of nature around him. 

“Morning, Arthur.” Charles said, pouring him a cup of coffee. 

“Mornin’ to ya,” Arthur took the cup from him. “Hope I didn’t sleep too long.”

Charles shook his head. “Not at all. Figured you needed the sleep.”

Arthur nipped at his coffee, only to find it was half as strong as he was expecting. After their trip together, Arthur couldn’t help but notice that Charles didn’t drink any coffee when either he or Hosea made it. He supposed the strength was too much for him. That and the grains. It felt weird to not have coffee beans stuck in the ridges of his teeth. “Feels like I’ve slept through most of the past month.” He grumbled, taking a slightly larger sip of his coffee. 

“You kind of have.” Charles cracked open a can of fruit. “Not that I blame you.”

“Mm,” Arthur nodded, mouth full of coffee. He gulped. “Normally don’t have nightmares like that, either.”

Charles handed over the can of fruit. He wasn’t going to bring up the nightmare or really anything that happened in the tent last night, figuring it would be right at the surface of his thoughts when he shook the sleep off of his brain. “How do you feel now?”

Arthur took another sip of his coffee. “Guess I feel okay. Slept pretty soundly after the fact.”

“Did you dream again after that?”

Arthur shook his head. 

Charles watched as Arthur took a bite of peaches. Part of him wanted to ask about the nightmare. He was a little too busy last night to focus on what Arthur was saying in between breaths.

“I dreamed the O’Driscolls found me an’ captured me again.” Arthur said with a mouth full of fruit, undeniably seeing the expectant expression on Charles’ face. “You weren’t in the dream. One of ‘em said you ran away.”

“Arthur…” Charles started, shaking his head slightly. “I wouldn’t--”

“I know you wouldn’t. It was all jus’ my brain mixin’ up everythin’.” 

“You’re not just saying that, are you?”

Arthur looked up at him, wiping juice from his chin. “I’m not.” He said it with such a conviction that even _ he _ believed what he was saying. 

Charles nodded, a pensive look on his face. “If you say so.”

Arthur finished off his fruit, tossing the can into the bushes. “So,” he started, “What’s the plan for today?”

“Do you think you can shoot your gun?”

Arthur cocked his head to the side. “Why wouldn’t I? I can shoot with my right hand.”

“You know what I mean. What if you need to shoot with both hands?”

Arthur, embarrassingly, hadn’t thought about that. After reluctantly taking the second holster from Micah, he hadn’t used it. He was too irritated by the amount of trouble Micah caused in Strawberry to bother with attaching it to his belt. 

“What are you suggesting, then?”

Charles got up to find the empty can from the bushes. “Do what you did when you first needed to shoot. Find some bottles or cans.”

“Probably should get dressed first.” Arthur stood, wiping off the dirt from his backside.

“What,” Charles said, turning around, “You don’t want to shoot in your underwear?”

“Not if I don’t gotta!” He called out.

\--

As the two men gathered the bottles, Arthur smiled to himself.

“What if I can’t shoot ‘em right?”

“Then we’ll try until you do.”

“What if I shoot all of them and I think I’ll need more practice?”  
  
Charles stood, holding some cans and bottles in his arms. “What are you getting on about, cowboy?”

“Well, we might have to make room for more empty bottles.” Arthur dug through his satchel, pulling out a half-full bottle of whiskey.

Scoffing, Charles responded, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Remember last time?”

“Of course, last time we almost kissed an’ I threw up in the alleyway.”

“Right. And for one of those reasons it would be bad for us to make more bottles.” He crouched back down, looking for other trash for Arthur to shoot. “I’m sure you’ll be able to figure out which reason.”

Arthur shook his head and went back to the task at hand. It was worth a shot. He’d been hungover more times in his life in dire situations, but for once he was going to pay attention to Charles’ advice.

Just like he was when he was a kid, Arthur stood in front of a log with stray cans and bottles.

He loaded his revolver, feeling clumsy in putting the bullets in the chamber. Had it really been a month since using his gun, or a year?

Looking at the bottles, some of them theirs and some not, Arthur held his gun out in front of him with his left arm. Christ, did it hurt. It was more difficult to keep his shaking to a minimum compared to the bow. A knot of anxiety formed in his stomach. How soon would it be until he’d be a competent shooter again? 

“All right,” Charles said, walking over to Arthur. He put his hands on his shoulders. “Are you ready?” 

“Sure.” _ Shoar _. Charles smirked at the word. 

“Okay, try aiming for the largest bottle at the end.”

Arthur held up his gun. The pain returned. Inhaled. Lined up with the clear bottle. 

Exhaled. Pulled the trigger. The shot echoed amongst the trees.

The bottle was still there. 

Arthur sighed. 

“Would it help if I held your arm up?” 

“Maybe.” 

Charles walked over to the side of him. He gently placed his hands under his bicep and forearm. “You’re shaking.”

“M’aware.” 

“Arthur, how bad does it hurt?”

“Not too bad.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Arthur shrugged his arm away from Charles’ hands. “I can do it. It don’t hurt much.”

Charles stepped away. This was looking to be a repeat of yesterday. 

Inhale. Line up. Exhale. Pull trigger.

Still there. 

“Goddamnit.” Arthur tipped his hat up. He pointed his gun at the bottle, flexing his arm a bit more. It hurt, but the shaking minimized. 

Inhale. Exhale. Pull trigger. 

Just barely, he shot the bottle. But a hit was still a hit. Charles patted him on the other shoulder. “Not bad, Arthur.”

Arthur couldn’t help but smile. He wanted to turn towards Charles and kiss him fiercely. Forget his troubles with his arm, the O’Driscolls, with Dutch. Just get lost with touching every inch of Charles, savoring the time they have together. 

But he didn’t. Instead, he flashed his smirk towards Charles, then turned his attention back to the bottles. That was easily the largest bottle, probably belonging to some hillbilly with backwoods moonshine. The remainders were standard fare, small like medicine bottles and horse tonics, or slightly larger like beer bottles. 

Maybe his happiness was premature. 

“Gonna get a little bit harder now,” Arthur grumbled, mostly to himself. He massaged his shoulder for a moment before bringing his arm up again. He moved to the next bottle. It was a beer bottle, much smaller than the jug he shot. He flexed his arm again. Pain that felt like thousands of pinpricks scrambled down to his arm. Trying to ignore the pain, he did his usual set up. 

He did hit something when he pulled the trigger, but it was only the log all the bottles were on. A few of them fell down.

Charles held up his hands and paced over to the log, placing the bottles back on the knotted wood. In the meantime, Arthur loaded his revolver again. 

“All right,” Charles said, retreating back behind Arthur, “Try again.”

Arthur held up his arm, greeted by the now familiar pain. He stared at the bottle, angered by its presence. It should have been a pile of glass by now. He focused his anger, then shot.

The kickback of the revolver hurt more than it did before, probably due to his new method of flexing his arm. It threw off his shot.

The bottle was still there.

“C’mon, Arthur, you miserable sack of--” Arthur said through gritted teeth. He shot again, and again. And again. He emptied the round, each shot further and further from his target. His hands were shaking as he put more bullets in the chamber. When he directed his attention back to the perfectly intact row of bottles, he switched the gun to his other hand. 

Relieved to have no pain in _ this _ arm, he pulled the hammer back. 

He fired off his round, hitting each and every bottle. In a little flourish, he spun the revolver around his trigger finger before putting it back in his holster. All the movements were there as a skilled sharp shooter, but none of the attitude. He heard Charles sigh behind him.

Arthur turned around to face Charles, his arms folded. He wasn’t impressed. “Are you done?”

“What, you wanted to watch me fumble ‘round with my arm for the rest of the day?”

Charles closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. “The point of this was to get you able to shoot with the other arm. I already know you can shoot with your right arm.”

“Well there weren’t no way I could, could do that.” He rubbed his shoulder. “Can’t seem to point the gun in a straight--”

“Arthur.” He started, getting the man’s attention. “Does your arm still hurt?”

“Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

“That’s not what I asked. Are you in pain?”

Arthur hid under the brim of his hat. “Maybe a little.”

Charles clicked his tongue. “How bad? On a scale of one to ten.”

Arthur thought for a moment, ticking down a couple numbers. “Six.”

“Six.” he repeated. 

Arthur cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

“And you were going to keep this a secret.” Charles phrased the question like a statement. No point in asking something he knew the answer to. 

“Listen, I wasn’t--wasn’t _ tryin’ _ to hide it from you. I just wanted to see if it would subside.”

“Mm.” Charles scratched at his chin. “Has it gotten worse?”

Arthur shrugged. “Too early to tell, I guess.”

Charles was silent for a moment. Part of him was considering calling off the trip, maybe rushing to St. Denis to visit a doctor. Then again, the doctor might just administer morphine to him. What good would that do? Besides, if his injury called for that, he could just go to Reverend Swanson for “assistance.” 

“Maybe making a salve would help.”

“Hold on--” Arthur dug through his satchel, pulling out a small book. It was a book about medicinal plants. Charles looked at it with interest. “What?”

“So you got a book on plants, huh?” He seemed amused by it, given his resistance to it when Charles was bandaging his thumb on their last trip.

Arthur’s cheeks turned pink. “Yeah, uh, I asked if Hosea had anything like it, so I’m borrowing it from him. Maybe it’ll be useful in finding something?”

“Don’t see why it wouldn’t be.” 

“Although I’m sure you know more than this book--” He flipped through to the last page. “All three hundred somethin’ pages of it.”

Charles scoffed. “You overestimate my knowledge.”

“Doubt that.” Arthur skimmed the pages of the book, finally finding the section on salves and ointments. Charles watched his eyes dart down the page. “All right, seems like we need to find St. John’s Wort, although that’ll be easy since it’s--” He turned the book over to Charles to show off a map on where to find the plant. “_Everywhere._”

Charles was familiar with the plant, mostly due to the peculiar name and the bright yellow of its petals. He questioned the efficacy on something like Arthur’s injury, but he didn’t say anything to that effect. Maybe, deep down, Arthur was thinking the same as well. Just a ploy to distract himself from the idea that maybe his shoulder and left arm is--

He stopped the thought in its tracks.

“They grow in plains and dry areas, huh?”

“Seems so.” Arthur whistled for Beeve. Charles did the same for Taima. “Let’s go find this plant, then. Can’t be too hard.”

\--

“Is this it?” Arthur called out, holding an unrooted yellow weed in his hand.  
  
Charles squinted. “No, that’s goldenrod. It’s the same plant you found the last time.”

“Well how am I s’posed to know? I ain’t no goddamn botanist or somethin’!”

“You have the _ book _!” He called back before turning his back to him. So many yellow flowers, but nary a St. John’s Wort to be seen. He heard the rustling of pages. 

For the past hour, the two men have had no luck in finding this supposedly pervasive plant. Charles had remembered the flower of it, down to the plant’s long stamens. He wasn’t entirely sure why Arthur was having a hard time with it. For a man who could pick out the breed of any wild horse, he seemed to have a hard time finding a bright yellow flower… 

Charles wiped the sweat from his brow. As he watched Arthur fan himself with his hat, he wasn’t sure if the other man was any better off from the heat. 

“Is this it?” Arthur called out, pulling out a different yellow flower.

Charles tread through the tall grass, squinting in the midafternoon sun. Whatever flower it was, it certainly wasn’t goldenrod _ or _ St. John’s Wort. “That’s--hm. Let me see the book.” He held out his hand. Arthur handed the plant and the book over to Charles. “It’s not it.”

Arthur cursed under his breath. “Is this just another pointless errand we’re findin’ ourselves on?”

“Worst of all, it’s self appointed.” Charles smirked at Arthur before casting his gaze out to the flat field of dry grass. “It should be around here somewhere.” An errant bead of sweat slid down the side of his face.

Arthur, without a moment to think about the gesture, wiped the sweat with the back of his hand. A small and considerate gesture. Arthur rubbed his knuckles down his shirt, damp with sweat. “I dunno ‘bout you, but I need to cool off.”

“Mm. Me too.” Charles watched the other man’s movements, heart beating in his ears. It was so peculiar that a simple touch like that could make him breathless. After more than a month of their partnership…

“Think there’s a pond ‘round here.” He whistled for his horse once again. “Anyway, the plant’ll be here later. Not like it’ll get up and walk away.”

Charles laughed humorlessly. “You never know.”

“Even if that did happen, nothin’ll surprise me.” He climbed on top of Beeve. “1899 has been a strange year.”

“For all of us.”

\--

Arthur unraveled his dressing, pleased to see his wound was a discolored divot in his skin. A miracle that it wasn’t still a gaping hole in his shoulder. It was a mangled spot of skin, and he’ll always have this mark as a reminder for Dutch’s (and his own) foolishness. A presumption that some rivalries can’t be mended.

He dove into the water, slightly shocked that it was so cold in this midday heat. He stayed under for as long as his lungs allowed.

When he emerged, sputtering water, he looked to find Charles still taking his time wading into the water. He was only waist deep in.

“You shouldn’t drink the water!” He called out.

“I wasn’t!” Arthur said back, running a hand over his shaggy hair. Maybe he could bother Charles later for getting a hair trim…

“Well either way, you shouldn’t have it in your mouth!”

“Didn’t you say somethin’ similar when I drank from that fountain?”

Charles knew he did, but he answered, “Probably.” He swam out closer to Arthur, where his feet couldn’t touch the ground.

“’Bout time you came out here.”

“I was taking my time.” Charles chided, resisting the urge to splash him.

“I’ll say you were.” Arthur looked over Charles’ shoulder, out to the bank.

“What?” Charles looked back as well, only finding their pile of clothes and their horses lapping at the water.

“What?”

“Did you see something?”

“Nah, nothin’ like that.” Arthur said.

Charles didn’t believe him, but he decided against fighting him on it.

The two men tread water, their skin cooling off.

Arthur looked back at land. Charles noticed the glance in the corner of his eye.

Arthur ducked his head underwater. It was a murky green color, the sunlight coming through in hazy rays under the surface. He saw the silvery glimmer of a fish’s scales as it swam by.

He jumped back up, slicking his hair back. “You like swimmin’, Charles?”

“On hot days like this, yeah.” He paused for a moment. His black hair swirled in the water like ink. “Otherwise I don’t care for it.”

“Why’s that?”

Charles wrinkled his nose, thinking. “When I was a kid, the older boys threw me into the water so I could learn how to swim.”

Arthur laughed. “Funny, that’s how I tried to teach John." 

Charles scoffed, “Look how that turned out.”

“I mean, well, least you know how to tread water.” He gestured toward him.

“Right.” Charles dipped the rest of his head underwater. When he emerged, he wrung out his hair.

“Does your hair ever get—” He wiggled his fingers around his head. “I dunno, tangled or messy?”

Amused by his pantomime, he said, “Maybe in the morning.”

“When I’ve seen you in the mornin’, you look like you always do.”

“Guess you haven’t seen me right when I wake up.”

Arthur felt his cheeks get hot. “Yeah, guess not.”

Charles floated on his back. He watched the birds fly overhead.

Arthur checked the shoreline.

“Guess you couldn’t race towards the shore with your injury.” Charles called out, lazily paddling around. His ears were underwater, the rest of his head just barely above the surface.

“I thought you couldn’t swim?”

Charles stood upright, shaking the water out of his ears. “What?”

“Thought you couldn’t swim.”

“Never said I couldn’t.”

Arthur thought over their conversation. “S’pose not.”

“Would you want to race? I’ll go easy on you.” 

“I don’t want you to go _ easy _ on me—”

“Okay, I’ll go hard on you.” Charles said, aware of the obvious double meaning.

Arthur focused on anything other than that. “All right, then.” He wound his arm around, mostly as a habit. “To the horses, then?”

Charles nodded. “Ready when you are.”

Arthur shook his head, a little surprised he’s even racing someone in his state. “I’ll count down.”

“Okay.”

“Three, two…one, _ go _ !” Arthur yelled before pushing off the sand. He tried to focus on kicking, using his arms (well, his _ arm _) as a secondary swimming method. His strokes were lopsided. He was gasping for air.

Charles beat him by a good twenty seconds.

When Arthur emerged on land, crawling around like some gasping turtle, he wheezed, “Probably—shouldn’t have raced you.”

“Are you okay, Arthur?” Charles kneeled down next to him, resting his hand on his back. “Do you need anything?”

“’Sides a rematch when I get better,” huffed Arthur, “I’m good.” He sat in the sand, tilting his head back to get some air.

“M’gonna dry off.” Charles said, going over to his pile of clothes. Arthur stole a glance as he walked away.

After finally catching his breath, Arthur crawled over to his clothes. He tugged out his union suit, shaking off the sand from it. As he stood, he noticed a bright yellow flower in the weeds.

“Hey Charles,” Arthur called out, drying himself off with his union suit. “Ain’t this the flower—I mean, the St. John’s Wort?”

“Hold on,” Charles said, stumbling to get his pants on. “Let me check.” The flower was yellow, but certainly not a buttercup or a colt’s foot. Definitely not goldenrod. “Looks like it.”

“Strange we’re findin’ it here. I thought it grew in a different setting? Like on dry plains or somethin’?”

Charles smiled. “You’re learning.”

“Yeah,” Arthur pulled his clothes on over his still-wet body. “Begrudgin’-ly. You got the book?”

“I gave it back to you?” Charles said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He picked his pale blue shirt up off the ground, wiping the dust off of it.

After some scrambling and scavenging, Arthur found the book in his satchel. “You know, it’s amazin’ how somethin’ so small can hold so much shit.”

“Wouldn’t kill you to clean it out every once and a while,” Charles muttered.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Arthur scoffed and started to flick through the dog-eared pages of the book. He kneeled down, eyes darting between the flower and the illustration. Charles amusedly watched him do this, his arms folded. “Stop starin’.” Arthur said through his smile.

“Okay, if you wish.” Charles turned the other way, watching the ripples of the lake. He looked back once, just to see if Arthur was still crouched in the tall weeds.

“M’pretty sure this is it.” He finally announced, tugging the plant at the root. He sandwiched the flower between the pages, almost like a strange organic bookmark. Closing the book, he stood and said, “I’m glad we stopped here for a swim.”

Charles turned, smiling. “Me too.”

\--

“The book says I gotta put this on my skin?” 

“Mm, figured as such.” Charles paused for a moment, taking note of Arthur’s incredulity in his voice. “What were you expecting to do?”

“I dunno, eat it?”

Barely able to contain his smile, he said, “…I see.”

“You’re the—listen, I’m just learnin’ all this stuff, Mr. Plant Man.”

Now Charles was full on smirking. “Hardly. You’re just mad that I know how to tell a raspberry plant from poison ivy.”

Arthur kept quiet, knowing Charles was right. He remembered how they were walking through the forest once and Charles stopped to pull a plant out of the ground. Arthur’s eyes grew in fear. “What the hell are you doin’, Charles? That’s—” only to see him holding out some berries for him. He remained quiet for the next hour, embarrassed to say anything.

Pulling out one of the tin mugs from the tent, Arthur started to break up the plant. He used the butt of his knife to grind it up, glancing over at the book for guidance.

“Do you want some help?” Charles asked, watching Arthur slather the mushed up plant over his wound. 

“If ya don’t mind.” Arthur said quietly.

“Not at all.” He took the tin cup from him, taking a scoop of the mush and delicately putting it on Arthur’s shoulder. “Let me know if it hurts.”

Arthur grimaced. “It kinda does, but you can keep goin’.”

“You’re sure?” Charles wasn’t convinced.

“M’sure.”

He continued to pat the makeshift ointment onto his skin, feather-light in his touches. “Seems pretty covered.”

“A’ight.” He cast a glance over to Beeve. “Think I got some clean bandages in my saddlebag.” He motioned to get up, but Charles stopped him.

“I got it, just stay here.”

Arthur shook his head, watching Charles get up and sift through his saddlebag. “You’re too nice to me, ya know that?”

Shooting a glance back at him, he said, “You’d do the same for me.”

“You have a lot of faith in what I’d do.”

“It’s not about having faith.” Charles dug out the bandages. “I just know.”

Arthur thought about if the roles were reversed. He hoped he’d be as patient and attentive as Charles. Even _ half _ that much. He thought about how he’d been as a partner in the past. Mary was never really injured in the way he was. He liked taking care of her, sure, but nothing like this. He never taught her how to hunt ( _ twice _) with the patience of a saint. He never sat by her bedside, holding her hand until morning. 

He’d never done a lot of things for his partners. But Charles could be an exception to the rule. Not that he was _ hoping _ he’d have to flex his wound care knowledge on him. 

Charles unwrapped the bandages, thinking for a moment. “I think we should try something different.”

“What do ya mean?”

Wordlessly, he knelt back down in front of Arthur, wrapping up his bicep. Then he wrapped the bandage to the other side of Arthur’s torso, just under his armpit. Arthur just watched, arms held out.

As Charles finished wrapping the bandage, his eyes met Arthur’s. “What were you looking at when we were in the water?”

“What?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Charles, I –the water—” He sputtered, then finally got out, “The water weren’t that clear. Not that I was tryin’ to look down or anything—”

“What—” Then he realized. Shaking his head, he directed the attention back to what he was originally asking. “Not _ that _. You kept looking up at the shoreline.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah, _ that _.”

Arthur sighed slightly. He could lie.

_ I was just makin’ sure our stuff was still there. _

_ I was seeing how far out we were. _

_ I thought I heard something. _

He could lie to Charles, right through his teeth. He’d lied to him before, not that he was proud of it.

But Charles would _ know _. That didn’t sit well with Arthur, even more than him telling the truth. It would only drive them further apart, not closer.

He sighed again, deeper this time.

“I was—I was on the lookout.” He cast his eyes away. “For O’Driscolls.”

“Mm.” Was all Charles said. He fastened the bandage. “How does that feel?”

“Good, s’fine – you don’t—you don’t got anything else to ask me?”

“Unless you want to talk about it?”

“Not now.” He answered it all too quickly.

Charles smiled, patting at Arthur’s good shoulder. “I understand.”

“This really does feel nice.” Arthur raised his bandaged arm up slightly. The tension of the wrapping felt nice against his bicep. His mobility was affected, but it didn’t hurt so damn much. A fair trade-off.

“Glad to hear it.”

“Not sure the St. John’s Wort helped any, though.” He looked over at the remainder of the plant in the tin cup.

“Well, it was worth a shot.”

“I wouldn’t say _ shot _, in this situation—”

Smirking, Charles asked, “You don’t like my phrasing?”

“No,” Arthur smiled despite himself. He gingerly tucked his arm back into his union suit. “Do we got any rabbit left over?”

“Maybe a flank or so. We could make rabbit stew. Or, at the very least, rabbit and beans.”

“I sure have enough beans to spare.” He looked over at his saddle bag. “Although I don’t think I brought any bowls or nothin’.”

“We’ll just use the mugs.”

Arthur thought for a moment. “All right, lemme go wash out the cup.”

Charles pulled out the remainder of the rabbit. “I’ll get started on the meal.”

It was a short trek down to the river. The sun was starting to set, the moon still hiding behind the mountains. Arthur always liked this time of the day. The anticipation before the night time. The lull of nature.

The silence.

He knelt down in the soil, rinsing out the cup. The water, despite the heat earlier today, was surprisingly cold. He clanged the cup against one of the rocks in the water, trying to get the remainder of the plant out from the bottom. 

He heard a rustling in the bushes. Like two sets of footprints. Like—

Like a shot, he stood up. He only had his knife on him, a foolish decision to take off his holster. He waited, his hand hovering over his knife.

His heart was pounding out of his chest.

He resented Colm, resented the entire O’Driscoll clan, resented Micah, even resented _ Dutch _, for feeling like this. He felt the taste of bile in his mouth. 

The rustling picked up again. His eyes scanned the dark scenery, the stars not out yet.

He saw a figure. Something large, looming out from the bushes.

It was a doe. She was stumbling down to the water, footing uneven in the soft ground.

Arthur’s shoulders slumped down in relief, feeling foolish for getting so worked up. He watched her lap at the river as his heart rate slowed down. 

Perhaps getting the feeling that she was being watched, she raised her head and looked straight at him. Her ears flicked at the bugs flying around her. 

“S’all right girl, I ain’t gonna kill ya.” Arthur said lowly, picking up his cup and moving slowly away from her.

After some time, she grew disinterested in him, going back down to drink at the river.

“What took you so long?” Charles asked as Arthur emerged from the woods.

“Ah, I saw a doe by the water.” Arthur set his cup down next to Charles’. “Didn’t try huntin’ it or nothin’. We just sort of…” He thought for the right word. “_ Acknowledged _each other’s presence.” 

“How passive of you.” It didn’t sound like sarcasm.

“Well, I didn’t have my bow.” He went to dig out the beans. 

Charles laughed quietly, shaking his head. “So tough.” He said it quietly enough that Arthur didn’t hear him.

Arthur came back to the campfire, arms full of cans. Charles noticed the bottle of whiskey as well. “We’re celebrating tonight?”

“Nah, just—” He set down the beans and vegetables. “Just need somethin’ to take the edge off so I can sleep tonight. So I don’t wake ya up again.”

“It’s really no problem if you do.”

Arthur uncapped the bottle and took a swig. “Nah, I’m just going to have a little.”

“Why do I feel like I’ve heard that before?” Charles muttered, opening the can of beans and putting them next to the rabbit on the grill.

\--

A couple hours later, the two men were surrounded by empty food cans, splitting the last of the whiskey between them. They weren’t as drunk as last time, just enough to get loose. Okay, maybe a little past buzzed. The infamous night with Lenny came back to Arthur in waves, which he decided to regale to Charles.

“--And so I’m—I’m lookin’ for Lenny _ everywhere_, I mean he kept gettin’ _ lost _ —” Arthur explained between laughter. “An’ I was jus’ like ‘LENNY! _ LENNYYYY_!’” His yells echoed off of the dense trees. Charles shushed him, laughing. “Sorry, sorry. An’ I went in this one door and saw one of the workin’ girls doin’ her business but she looked like _ Lenny_. She had Lenny’s face! And I practically ran out screamin’!”

Charles had his head in his hands, laughing. His sides were starting to hurt from laughing so much.

“And—and anyway, I found ‘im again, or maybe he found me, I don’t remember. I think we slapped each other a few times? And then we woke up in jail.”

“What, for slapping each other?” 

“No, nah, not that.” Arthur shrugged. “Probably somethin’ dumb?”

Charles shook his head, catching his breath. “Sounds about right.”

Their laughing ceased, then Charles sighed. “You want the last of it?” He gestured towards the bottle.

Arthur thought for a moment, his eyes fixed on the fire. “Nah, s’all yours.”

Charles took one last pull from the bottle, then tossed it over near the log where Arthur was practicing his shooting. It landed with a _ thunk _. “There’s your target for tomorrow, just as you wanted.”

“Happy ya could assist me in that.” Arthur rested his head on Charles’ shoulder. Just for a moment, he buried his head into the crook of his neck, his nose tickled by his long black hair.

“Hey Arthur.”

“Mm?”

“Were you watching me earlier when we were swimming?”

“I dunno what you mean.” He buried his face back into his shoulder.

“Yes you do.”

“Do not!”

“Well, I was doing the same thing.”

Arthur took his head off of Charles’ shoulder. “You _ what_?!”

Charles broke into a fit of laughter. “Why is that so surprising?”

Even with the orange glow of the fire, Charles could tell Arthur was blushing. “B—because, I didn’t think you’d do somethin’ like—like that, with _ me _—” Charles kissed him.

“How can you be so aware and so _ oblivious _ at the same time?” His hand stroked Arthur’s face. “I _ like _ looking at you.”

Arthur tilted his head down. “I like lookin’ at you, too.”

They kissed again, a little sloppy this time around.

“I like kissin’ you.”

“You’re drunk.” Charles laughed.

“An' so are you,” Arthur kissed him again. “I like kissin' you, an’ I like _holdin_’ you—” He put him in a big bear hug, pushing him back.

“All right, all right, _ cowboy _,” Charles laughed as Arthur planted kisses along his jaw and neck. “We gotta get to bed.”

“Les’just sleep out here.” Arthur said, sleep seeping into his voice. He tucked his head back into the crook of Charles’ neck, kissing at his skin.

“The ground isn’t exactly good for your shoulder.”

“S’fine.” His voice was muffled in Charles’ hair.

“C’mon, you oaf.” He pulled away from Arthur. “I don’t want to have to pull you into the tent.”

Arthur grumbled, finally pulling himself up enough to crawl into the tent.

He fell asleep as soon as he hit the bedroll.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: some descriptions of hunting, but nothing too graphic. just a heads up!

_ The ground was swaying back and forth.  _

_ No, wait,  _ he _ was swaying back and forth.  
  
He was upside down. A burlap sack covered half of his face. It itched his nose desperately, but his hands couldn’t bear to move. _

_ The room was dark. His head felt heavy, his limbs numb. There was a faint smell of urine and blood. Probably his own. _

_ Footsteps came down the stairs. A familiar pair of boots met his vision. A gentle hand took off the burlap sack on his head. _

_ He craned his neck out to see Dutch standing before him. He was dressed in his usual attire, completely spotless. _

_ “Dutch,” Arthur rasped. He tried to hold out one of his hands. The one  not covered in blood. He must have bled out from his shoulder. _

_ “I can’t believe you got yourself in this situation.” He shook his head as if he were a disappointed father. “Maybe Bill was right.” _

_ Losing his touch. Getting soft... _

_ “Why’d you take so long to find me, Dutch?” He asked him. “Why didn’t you know it was a set-up?” _

_ “Why didn’t  _ you _ ?” His tone was pointed.  _

_ “Wouldn’t have mattered--” He coughed, tasting stomach acid in his mouth. “--what I said. Nothin’ I do for you  _ matters  _ anymore.” _

_ A pause. Footsteps. Arthur craned his neck to look around the dark room. _

_ “Dutch?  Dutch ?!”  _

_ Colm O’Driscoll laughed as he stepped down the stairs. “Son, if you think Mr. Van der Linde is down here, then you really  have lost it.” He stepped right in front of him, only noticing the burlap mask on the ground. “Looks like you dropped something.” _

_ As he moved to pick it up, Arthur flinched. It seemed to amuse Colm something awful. “What, is Dutch’s right hand man  afraid  of me?”  _

_ “No--” Arthur choked out. _

_ He laughed. “You can’t even lie to me.” Arthur watched him, unblinking. “Wait ‘til Dutch finds you like this.  If  he ever does find you.” He straightens out the burlap. “Maybe he’ll just leave you here to rot.” _

_ He pulled the mask down over Arthur’s face, his vision going black. _

\--

Arthur jolted awake, breathing hard. His shirt was cold with sweat. His head was pounding.

Charles stirred in his sleep, buried under the blankets. Careful of his movements, Arthur left the tent.

He stumbled through the darkness, feeling the urge to throw up. He crouched, heaving and throwing up as quietly as he could to not wake Charles. He wiped his mouth with his union suit sleeve, trying not to cough too loudly at the smell.

Was that a nightmare, or a memory?

As he caught his breath, sitting back away from his vomit, he tried to remember what happened when he was gone. It felt like reading a book with half of its pages written out. There were certain elements he  _ did _ remember: he was shot in the shoulder after initially attempting to get away, and he was hung upside down. The next thing he remembered was lying on the ground at camp, Dutch grandstanding to him.

The inklings of beginning, middle, and end.

Arthur spat out any remainder of sick in his mouth, then slowly stood to find his canteen. The water tasted like tin, but it was better than feeling the residual bile and booze on his tongue.

In his life, he’d blacked out from drinking more than a few times. Entire nights, completely gone. Every time he came to, maybe he had some new injuries or scars, but nothing incredibly worrying.

But to essentially block out  _ three days _ at the hands of Dutch’s greatest enemy…

That was a different level of concern. 

He racked his brain, trying to remember any sort of aspect of his captivity. It was all a dim hazy nightmare. His journal, from what he skimmed through, didn’t help either. Really, the fact that he had his personal belongings (Charles’ bracelet included) intact was surprising enough.

He could only think of the pain. The hunger, the head-numbing feeling of being chained upside down, the dampness of the room he was kept in. The flickering candle in the corner of the room.

There were no landmarks to speak of while he was leaving. He, through efforts completely lost to him now, unchained himself and ran like hell. He could remember the distant yells of O’Driscolls as he rode off, bullets whizzing past his head. 

The ride back on the horse wasn’t easy, him drifting in and out of consciousness. He didn’t know how long he was gone. How far he was from camp. He kept riding until he found the old dilapidated church near Rhodes, his vision blurring by the time he got to the outskirts of camp.

He ran his hands over his face, cold sweat still forming at his brow. It all weighed on him like a pile of bricks. He breathed deeply, attempting to calm down. Standing slowly, he carefully walked back over to the tent.

Arthur crawled back inside, comforted to find Charles still sleeping. He laid next to him, sneaking his body back under the covers. 

“Where were you?” Charles asked, still mostly asleep. 

“S’okay,” Arthur whispered, covering his feet with the blanket. “Jus’ had to go to the bathroom.”

“Mm,” is all he said, already drifting back to sleep. Arthur wrapped an arm around his midsection.

He matched his breathing with Charles’, slowly sinking back into sleep.

\--

Charles woke up hours later to an empty tent. 

He stretched his arms overhead, yawning. Despite his state last night, he wasn’t hungover. A slight headache, sure, but nothing like that night in St. Denis.

His hand patted the spot where Arthur slept. It was damp with sweat. 

He thought of last night, how Arthur jolted awake. He certainly heard him leave the tent, but didn’t consider it to be any issue. It wasn’t like how it was a couple of nights ago, with Arthur waking up from his nightmares through his screams.

Charles tugged on his clothes from last night. His clean clothes were still in the saddlebag. As he buttoned up his pants, he heard the sound of arrows launching off a bow. 

Not only arrows flying, but  _ connecting _ . He waited for a moment, hearing the bow getting tautly pulled back.

Release.  
  
Connect.

Then he stepped out. 

He saw Arthur, union suit half off, sleeves tied around his waist. His bandages were still on, if a little disheveled from sleeping in them. The sun’s rays hit his back muscles, highlighting his shape. He pulled the arrow back again, Charles silently watching his form as he shot at the tree in front of him. Gone was the shaking and unease as he tried to find a non-painful position. He was strong with his movements, more like  _ himself _ , than he had been in more than a month.

He must have felt a pair of eyes watching him. He turned around. “Mornin’ Charles!” He said, setting down his arrow.

Charles cleared his throat, a little embarrassed to have been caught staring. “Morning.”

“I gotta tell you--” He went to sit by the unlit campfire. “This bandagin’ has been a goddamn lifesaver.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said, stretching his arms overhead.

“I mean, m’not gonna lie to you. I’m still at like--” He tilted his head back and forth. “A four in terms of pain, but it’s better’n a six.” He wound his arm around, going to pick the arrows out of the tree.

“When did you get up?” Charles asked, pouring himself an undoubtedly strong cup of coffee. He stopped pouring halfway. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“Maybe a little bit before sunrise?” His hands were wrapped around an absurd amount of arrows. Charles definitely noticed he didn’t have to pick any up from the ground.

“So you’ve been up a few hours then.”

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep.” 

“Even  _ with _ how much we drank last night?”

“Weren’t  _ that _ much.” He muttered, setting the bow and arrows down next to the rest of his supplies and weapons.

“Enough to keep me in bed.”

“And it wasn’t ’cause of my warm body pressed against you?”

Charles shook his head, working the coffee grains out of his teeth with his tongue. “You kept twitching.”

Arthur froze. “What?”

“Maybe in the middle of the night. I felt you shaking, or twitching, or something.” Charles looked out in the middle distance, brows knitted together in worry. It was only now he realized why Arthur was up so early, the fog lifting from his brain. “Did you have any nightmares?”

Arthur sighed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. It was already humid. “Can’t say if I did or not.”

“Arthur…”

“No! I’m bein’ serious. I honestly don’t know  _ what _ it was. A nightmare, or--or a memory, or  _ what _ \--” Arthur threw up his hands in confusion. “An’ I woke up.” He sat down next to the burnt out fire.

Charles waited. He took another sip of his coffee. 

“I…” He cleared his throat. “I had a dream about Colm. I was bein’ kept in this dark room, chained upside down.”

“Shit, Arthur--” He hung his head. “If you don’t want to talk about it--”

“That was pretty much the whole dream, I s’pose.” He grabbed a nearby twig, snapping it into little pieces. He was quiet for a while, words building up in his throat but then sinking back down to his stomach.

Charles moved over to him. He put his hand on Arthur’s knee. They sat in silence.

“Your--” Charles started, pressing his fingers into his knee. “Your form looks better today.”

Arthur focused on Charles, smiling slightly. “Ya think so?”

“Of course I do.” Charles said, almost incredulous he was asking. “Do you want to try hunting again?”

Arthur sighed, nodding. “I think so.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“You know, I’m kinda...kinda feelin’ a little adventurous today.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…” He put his arms back in his union suit sleeves. “Might wanna hunt something big.”

“Like bison?”

“Nah, not that big. Smaller.”

“A bear?”

“Not quite.”

“…A moose?”

“ _ No—is _ that even smaller than--? I wanna hunt an elk.”

“Hm. Why not a buck?”

“Too small.” Arthur wound his arm around in his socket.

“You say that now.”

“You doubtin’ me, Mr. Smith?”

Charles shook his head, his messy black hair swaying back and forth. He was right about it being messy when he first woke up. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“Alright then,” he got a whiff of his union suit. It reeked of vomit and sweat. “Eugh, I need to bathe. You got any soap?”

Charles held up his finger. “I have some in my saddlebag.” He went over and dug out the bar of soap and a rag, along with his change of clothes for the day. He wrapped the soap in the rag, holding it out for Arthur to take.

Arthur grabbed it, but Charles didn’t let go.

“What is it?”

“Do you need me to stand watch?”

“What? No, ya don’t have to—”

“Do you  _ want _ me to stand watch?”

Arthur swallowed thickly, suddenly unable to speak. He clenched his jaw and nodded. Charles let go of the soap.

“Okay.” Charles smiled. “Show me where you saw the deer.”

Arthur scoffed, “What, you think it’ll be there again?”

“Doubt it, but it’s worth checking.”

\--

  
  


“Charles?”

“What is it?” He asked, not looking up from his gun. He was cleaning it, making sure it was in pristine condition to stand watch.

“Could you, uh?” He made a semicircle with his finger. Charles caught the hand motion with his peripheral vision.

“You’re kidding.” He deadpanned. “How many men have you seen naked in your time?”

“It’s not how many I’ve seen.” He kept his hand clasped at his unbuttoned union suit like a debutante would hold her pearls. “It’s the fact that you’re watchin’.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen you naked a bunch of times? I just saw you naked yesterday!”

“Yeah, well, you were never staring at me, save for yesterday.” Arthur turned around. “Whatever, never mind.” He stripped out of his union suit. “I’ll just jump in.” Charles turned after getting a glimpse of his pasty frame.

Arthur leapt into the water, letting out an unbecoming yelp. “Shit, this water’s colder ‘n a witch’s tit!”

Charles laughed at the strange phrase. “It’s what?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Despite his goosebumps and discomfort, he sank down into the water. His teeth chattered. “S-somethin’ that Hosea said when I was younger.”

“But why would a witch’s tit be  _ cold— _ ”

“I dunno, because witches are _ \--”  _ He made a face. “... _ Are _ witches cold-blooded?”

“You’d know more than me on that.” Charles looked back again. “Can I turn around now?”

“Yeah, ya can, but try not to look in the water, cause uh….s’cold.”

Charles clicked his tongue. “As if I don’t know that.” He turned around, slinging his rifle on his shoulder.

After quickly dunking his head underwater, he scrubbed his hair and stubble. “You think my hair’s getting too long?” He asked, his eyes closed shut.

Charles couldn’t help but smirk. It was just past the tops of his ears soaking wet. “Hardly.”

“Yeah, guess I’m askin’ the wrong person.” He dipped back under the water.

“Do  _ you _ think it’s too long?”

Arthur shrugged, scrubbing his chest and under his arms. “Think I’ll mind when it hits the back of my neck, s’pecially when it’s this goddamn muggy out.”

“Mm. Is the water still cold?”

“Sure is.” He lifted up his leg enough to scrub it.

Charles thought for a moment. “I might wash up when you’re done.”

“I can’t guarantee I warmed up the water or anythin’.”

“I know.” He set down his rifle against the adjacent log.

As soon as he was finished washing all the way down to his toes, he ran out of the water, forgoing his attempts at modesty for warmth and comfort. He put on his underwear over his sopping wet figure.

“No towel.” Charles noted, already unbuttoning his shirt. 

Arthur waved his hand at the remark. “Pah, who needs that?”

Charles tossed his discarded clothes towards Arthur, then stepped into the water. “Shit,” he gasped, “you weren’t joking!”

“Why’n the hell would I joke about that?” Arthur slung the rifle over his body, his wet hair dripping down onto the leather strap.

Charles shrugged, dunking his head underwater. He quickly scrubbed himself clean, his long hair included.

“Bathing out here sure ain’t like the inns ‘round town, huh?”

“Nothing like it.” He flipped his hair in front of him, wringing it out like one would a rag. Arthur sat and watched him wind his hair up into a messy knot on his head.

“Never seen ya do that.”

“You’ve never watched me bathe.” He stood, shaking himself off. “First time for everything.”

“Guess so.” Arthur tossed him his towel. It was more like a tattered piece of flannel, but it was enough to wrap around his waist.

“So.”

“So.” Charles responded, water dripping down his face. He got close to where Arthur was sitting.

He stood from the rock, only a foot away from Charles. He could see the goosebumps on his skin.  
  
He wanted to reach out and touch him. 

Instead, he simply said, “…Elk.”

“…Elk,” Charles said through a smile.

\--

Arthur’s fingers fumbled with the gauze.   
  
“Do you need help?” Charles asked, tugging on his boots. 

“Maybe, I’m not--” He cut off his sentence. “I just need to--” More fumbling. The bandage unravels from his shoulder. He sighed, more amused than upset. “Yeah, I think help would be good.”

Deftly, Charles wrapped up the bandage around Arthur’s shoulder, looping the fabric around his torso for extra support. “It  _ is  _ hard to apply bandages to yourself, especially like this.”

“Oh, like you got experience with that?” Arthur asked, smirking.

Charles gave him an unamused look, then finished up fastening the bandage. “There you go.”

Arthur ran his fingers along his shoulder, grazing the edge of the fabric. “Thank you, Mr. Smith.”

“Any time.” And he meant that.    
  
As Arthur slipped his arms back in his union suit sleeves, he looked over at Charles. “I was just joking earlier.”   


Charles looked back at him, arms folded. “I know.” He smirked.

“Just wanted to make sure ya did.” He threw on his shirt and slung his belt over his good shoulder. “Let’s get saddled up, then.”

“Lead the way.”

\--

They rode out of the forest, staying alongside the creek. According to the map (and the inherent knowledge of the two men), the creek connected to a larger river once they cleared out of the trees. Charles got in front of Arthur, just enough for them to be in the same line.    
  
“So Charles,” Arthur said, speaking a little louder over the rushing water, “You got any more tips for me on huntin’ elk?”   
  
Charles looked back at him, a slight smirk on his lips. “Nothing that I haven’t already told you. Just keep quiet and be patient.”

“Well, the keepin’ quiet part will be easy.” He heard a scoff from Charles. “I mean it!” 

“Sorry, sorry. I know.”

“Look, just cause you’re the one who hears most of my ramblin’, it don’t mean I talk the rest of the time. I mean, most of the time I’m alone.”

Charles navigated Taima over a fallen tree. Arthur followed. “Except now.” He cast a glance back once they got to flat terrain.    
  
Arthur smiled slightly. “Except now.” There was a pause. He thought about when he first met Charles. “Kinda funny to think we didn’t talk much at all the first couple of months. When you joined us, I mean.”

“Mm,” Charles thought, “I didn’t have much to say.”

“Find that hard to believe.”

“Do you, now?”

“Well, you’re joining up with all these strangers...you must’ve had some things to think about.”

“ _ Think _ about, yes, but nothing worthy of discussing.”

They turn their horses to ride along a footpath, finally away from having to maneuver around rocks and branches on the ground. 

“What’d you think of Dutch when you first met him?”

Charles was silent for a moment. “I was…” He slowed to have Arthur ride alongside him. “I was surprised he welcomed me in so quickly.”

“Well, he saw how you fought. He knew you’d be a good asset to the camp.” Arthur couldn’t help but think Dutch saw the same thing in him, some twenty years ago. “An’ he was right.”

Charles smiled, shaking his head, thinking about the weird twists and turns in his life. “What did you think of me?”

“Well, I didn’t--” He stopped himself. “It’s not that I  _ didn’t _ think of you, I just thought you were so damn  _ serious _ . I thought I was stone-faced, but--” He looked over at Charles, with his soft face and kind eyes. A complete opposite from how he saw him now. “I was kinda  _ intimidated  _ by you, which sounds so foolish of me to say now.”

“I  _ intimidated  _ you?” Charles narrowed his eyes, smile widening. 

“Yeah, ‘cause every time I saw you, you were--” Arthur pulled a serious face. Furrowed brows, clenched jaw, hard stare. “An’ I just figured you weren’t in the mood to talk  _ ever _ .”

“You sure you weren’t just looking in the mirror?” Charles tittered. “That’s how I always saw you, mostly when Dutch was instructing you.

Arthur scoffed, although he knew Charles was right. If he had a dollar for every time Hosea (or later, Mary) told him to stop scowling and lighten up, he’d have enough money to bail the gang out for life. “Yeah, all right. What’d ya think of me?”

“Honestly?”   


“I only want your honesty, I can handle it.”

“I thought--” He sighed slightly. “I thought you were just a brute. How you didn’t have an independent thought in your brain. I saw the way Dutch ordered you around. And you just--you just  _ obeyed _ .”

A long pause from Arthur. “You weren’t wrong.”

“Don’t do that. You know I don’t like that.”

“What? It’s true. I’ve never had to really think about  _ why _ I did things. Or, hell, why I  _ do _ things. ‘For the camp, Arthur.’ Dutch would always say that, ‘specially when I was a lot younger. I killed for Dutch, robbed for Dutch, stole for Dutch. He taught me all those things.” There was a long pause. “You remember that German family?”

“Of course.”

“I just remember how  _ willing _ you were to help them. How being considerate an’ good was so natural to you.”

“And I remember how  _ unwilling _ you were to help them.” Charles quipped.

He tilted his head to one side, sighing. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But it was--I don’t normally see kindness like that. Helpin’ people.”

“If I weren’t there--”

“I would’ve shooed them out. Made the camp out of the scraps they left behind.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charles shake his head. “I ain’t proud of it. I prolly wouldn’t do that now. I  _ know _ I wouldn’t.”

“Even if they didn’t have gold waiting for you after you helped them?” 

“Even then.”

Charles wasn’t sure if Arthur was telling the truth (at least about the gold), but he smiled anyway. “I’m glad I can be such a positive influence on you, Mr. Morgan.”

“Be careful, I got a reputation to uphold.” He smirked over at Charles. “Gotta have people think I’m mean an’ nasty.”

“Wouldn’t dream of changing that.” Charles rode close to Beeve, only a few inches away from causing a collision. He looked around, down the seemingly endless river, then behind him as well. Seemed they were the only two for miles. He leaned over and kissed Arthur on the cheek, pushing his hat off his head.

“Hey!” Arthur said, cheeks warm. His hat toppled off his shoulders and landed in the weeds. “One second.”

Charles slowed Taima down. He looked back to get a glimpse of Arthur bending down to pick up his hat.   
  
“You know just what to do to get me all worked up, don’t ya?” Arthur said, gesturing to Charles with his dusty hat. He pulled the brim down low over his eyes (still embarrassed, no doubt), then hoisted himself up onto Beeve. 

Smirking, Charles said, “I sure do.”

\--

“I see some elk tracks up ahead.” Charles announced, slowing Taima down. “It looks like they lead up to the water’s edge.”

“Alright, what do you s’pose we do?”

“We wait until dusk. Let’s find a place to wait.”

“Dusk? Charles, it’s--” 

“Hours from now, I’m aware. Patience, Arthur.” He tsked. “C’mon, there’s some fallen trees to hide behind.”

Arthur, grumbling, followed him up to the dead trees further up the hill. “You sure the tracks go through this area?”

“See for yourself.”

He focused on the prints in the mud, much larger than a deer’s. Sure enough, they crossed near the river. It looked like they crossed earlier that day, maybe around dawn. “Looks like we’ll wait.”

“You’re the one who wanted to hunt an elk.”

“I know, I know.” He dismounted Beeve, stretching out his legs. He got out his binoculars, searching the area for any other forms of wildlife. A few birds, too far away to identify, some rabbits hopping along, a squirrel burying an acorn. In terms of people, there wasn’t anyone he could see even in the far out distance. He went back to the view of the squirrel, some thirty feet away. His fingers itched to draw.

Switching out his binoculars for his journal, he flipped to a few clean pages  _ after _ his last entry. He quickly drafted a shape of a squirrel. He scribbled a pile of dirt near him, an acorn in the animal’s hands. As he worked on the shading and finer details of the squirrel, he could feel Charles looking over at his book. Arthur stopped sketching, only to look over his shoulder.    
  
“Sorry, I’ll leave you to it.” Charles held up his hands.

“No, it’s okay.” Arthur softened his shoulders, motioning to the log. “Here, let’s sit down.”

Charles watched intently as Arthur finished the drawing of the squirrel. It was rough around the edges, loose graphite lines that formed into cross-hatchings, but it was wonderful. “That’s very good, Arthur.”

“Ah, I’ve drawn better.”

“Show me, then.”

Arthur swallowed. “Well, my drawing of you isn’t in here.”

“I’m sure there’s plenty of other pages just as good.”

Arthur turned his book out of Charles’ sight, a frantic flip through the pages. “Let’s see.” He presented a picture he drew when the gang first got to Horseshoe Overlook. It was a view from his cot.

“How long do these take you?”

“Mm, depends. That one took ‘round ten minutes, maybe.” 

Charles raised his eyebrows. “That’s certainly something.”

“Ain’t nothin’.”

“So you keep saying.” Charles closed the book, handing it back over to Arthur. He could tell he was getting antsy with Charles holding it for so long.

“I was, uh, gonna write a little bit, if you don’t mind.”

“All right. Are you hungry?”   
  
“Why?”

Charles shrugged. “I could catch something while you write. You could have some time alone.”

“Nah, I don’t--you can stay here.”

“Really?”    
  
“Course.” Arthur turned the page, starting to write. Charles busied himself by going through his rucksack.

  
  


_ It’s been a real long time since I wrote anything in here. Was worried I wouldn’t remember how to write.  _

_ Charles and I have been on a hunting trip, although I ain’t been doing much hunting. My shoulder still hurts, and that’s even with the new way of bandaging it up. I wonder if Charles is sick of taking care of me. I would be, if I was him. He’s never said anything of the like, though. _

_ Been having a lot of nightmares. About Colm, about Dutch, about the rest of the O’Driscoll gang. I ain’t been sleeping well outside of camp, even with Charles by my side. _

_ We’re waiting to hunt an elk. If I’m lucky, it’ll only be me hunting it, without Charles’ help. Maybe I could use my good shoulder to launch the arrow.  _

_ Here’s hoping. _

Arthur felt his eyelids get heavy. He shut his journal, then slid down the front of the log to the ground. He stretched out.

“Tired?” Charles asked. He was currently feeding Taima an apple.

“Yeah,” Arthur grumbled, tilting his hat over his eyes. “Wake me when there’s some elk.”

“I’ll try to.”

He drifted off to the sound of Taima crunching the remainder of the apple.

\--

He woke up a couple of hours later, Charles snoozing right next to him. The sun was about to set.

“Charles.” Arthur rolled over, slinging an arm across his chest. “I think it’s time.”

Charles stirred, then stretched his arms overhead. “Looks like it,” he said, opening his eyes to the escaping sunlight. “Get your bow.”

“Wouldn’t a rifle be better?”

“So the kickback could knock your arm out of its socket? I don’t think so.”

Arthur put the rifle back onto his saddle. He slung the bow over his shoulder. “Alright, m’ready.”

Charles got his supplies as well, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Still waking up,” he muttered.

“Can’t believe I’m more awake than you."

“Yeah, for once.” He pulled out his binoculars. As he scanned the terrain, he inhaled sharply. “Looks like we got one.”

“Mm, cow or a bull?”

“A cow, looks like it.” Putting away his binoculars, he motioned for Arthur to crouch. “No talking.”

“Got it.” Arthur said quietly, too focused on the elk to get offended. 

They slowly crept down to the river, stopping every few steps. The elk stopped in front of the river, taking a drink. 

“Wonder where the rest of the pack is,” Arthur muttered.

“Shh,” Charles shushed. They both hid behind a boulder, across the river from where the elk was. Charles gave the signal for Arthur to get his bow and arrow out and ready. As he did, Charles lightly hit him on the arm.

“There’s a bull.” 

“Shit, really?”

Charles motioned to around the rock. Sure enough, a male elk joined the female in lapping at the river. 

“Which are you going for?”

Arthur shrugged. “Whichever I can get.” He pulled the arrow taught. The bandages did what they could to provide support to his muscles.   
  
“Just breathe.” Charles said softly. He pressed a hand on his back.   


Arthur followed his instruction. He exhaled, letting the arrow go.

It hit the cow right in the breast.    
  
The male hopped off, startled. Arthur shot another arrow into the elk, trying to make it quick. As he shot the third arrow in, the elk brayed and collapsed, its head falling into the stream.

Giddy, Charles put his hand behind Arthur’s neck and squeezed. “Good job, Arthur.” A shiver ran up Arthur’s spine. He turned towards him, setting the arrow down, and gave him a kiss. Then another.

“You need to get your kill!” Charles said, kissing him back.

“I know, I’m goin’--” He gave Charles one last kiss before crossing the river, shallow enough to trudge across without having to swim. “Can you help?”

Charles got in the water, gasping at the temperature. “Never get used to that!” He called out.

They dragged the carcass away from the water, then proceeded to cut the pelt off and take what they could from the cow. “I figured Pearson would like some as well.” Arthur said, wrapping some slabs in wax paper.   
  
“How considerate.” Charles rolled up the pelt, which was in pretty good condition. He figured he could make a few bucks off of it. He felt a drop of rain on his hand. “Just felt a drop.”    
  
“I haven’t felt anythin’. Maybe-- _ ah, _ there we go.” Arthur looked up toward the sky getting darker by gathering clouds. “Probably should head back.”

“Yeah, try and cook something before there’s a downpour.”

After packing away what he could in his satchel, Arthur took the pelt from Charles. “I got it.”   
  
“Not too heavy for you?” He asked snidely, washing his bloody hands in the water.   
  
Arthur scoffed as an answer. He whistled for the horses. He quickly slung the pelt over the back of Beeve’s rump, the rest of the elk cuts in Arthur and Charles’ respective rucksacks. The rain was picking up quickly, the sky blackening just as fast.   
  
“C’mon, before the firewood gets too wet.” Arthur clicked his tongue, kicking at Beeve’s sides. The two men raced into the forest. Visibility was low, even in the woods. Charles pulled out his lantern. “I’ll lead the way,” he said, lighting the wick. The path they took on the way to the river was gathering puddles. The way to camp felt three times as long, especially due to the conditions.

Charles stopped Taima suddenly. “Wait.” He said to Arthur. Beeve slipped at the sudden command to stop.    
  
“What is it?”

“Listen.”

Arthur listened, fearing it was the growl of a wolf. Instead, he heard the weak plea of a woman’s voice.

_ “Help me…”  _

A figure stumbled out from the thick of the woods. A woman, around the same age as Arthur, limped out, her small hands clutching her lumpy water-logged cardigan around her. “Oh, thank god! I’ve been looking for help for  _ days _ .” 

“What do you need, miss?” Charles asked, quicker on the draw than Arthur.

“I lost my husband.” She said, looking around. “He--he said he was going on a hunting trip, but he never came back!” Her grip tightened on the fabric.

“Ma’am,” Arthur said, “Do ya live around this area? We could give you a ride home.”

“I really want to find my husband.” Her voice was breaking. “Please help me. I think he went down this trail.”

“Here, climb on,” Charles gestured to her. “We’ll find him faster on horseback.”

The woman shook her head. She looked back at Arthur, then past him. A slow smile crept onto her face.   
  
“What--” Arthur looked behind him, only then a man came out of the shadows and tugged Arthur off of Beeve. He landed in the mud, right on his injury. A white hot pain bloomed from his shoulder. All he could do was gasp in agony.

“Ah, there he is--” The woman removed her cardigan, revealing a revolver. She pointed it at Charles. “Don’t even think about it.” Charles held his hand up, the other holding the lantern.

“Quite a horse you got there, mister.” The man grinned down at Arthur. He was missing a few teeth. Arthur couldn’t do anything but watch him get on Beeve. Beeve did his best to kick him off, but the man stayed put as he broke him in.    
  
“Get off the horse!” The woman yelled at Charles. “Or else I’ll kill you  _ and _ your friend over there.”

Weakly, Arthur pulled his gun from his holster. Charles saw Arthur’s movements in the corner of his eye, then turned off the lantern. 

The next two flashes of light were from Arthur’s revolver. One bullet for the woman, then the other for the man trying to get away on Beeve. The two people hit the mud with a splat. 

Charles felt the blood mist hit his face. The downpour washed it away. He all but slipped off of Taima, who was eager to run and find Beeve. Once he cleared the landing, she ran ahead to find him. Arthur got up weakly, crawling through the mud to Charles. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, the lightning providing glimpses of light.

“Are you okay?” Charles asked. 

Arthur couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “You had a gun pointed at you, and you wanna know if I’m okay?”

Charles wrapped his arms around Arthur. “I thought I lost you.” His voice was muffled in Arthur’s clothes.    
  
“I would hope I would go out in a more dignified way.” Arthur hugged him back, pulling his body closer with one arm more than the other. 

They kissed. First it was timid, chaste kisses, which quickly grew to passionate kisses. It matched how it was a month ago, when they were wantonly kissing through the wafting cigarette smoke. They separated, breathing hard. “We need to go back to camp,” Arthur said, panting.   
  
Charles whistled for the horses. They splashed through the mud, back to the two men.    
  
Taima and Beeve had never run so fast in their lives.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! here's the last chapter of this fic! I have the next one started and i promise it's going to be a little lighter :)
> 
> CW: stabbing, vague descriptions of torture, violence

The rain only got worse as they rode back to camp. “There ain’t no _ chance _ we’re gonna get a fire goin’!” Arthur called out to Charles over the thunder.   
  
“Looks like we’ll have to spend our time differently!” Charles yelled back, the tone of his voice playful.

Arthur swallowed, his throat suddenly too tense to speak. So this _ was _ happening.  
  
Whatever “this” encompassed. Arthur tried not to think about the near future. 

Sure enough, the camp was waterlogged, the firewood soaked. The two men dismounted, Arthur starting to remove the tack from Beeve. He wasn’t sure if it was out of necessity or nervousness. His shoulder seized up as he unlatched the saddle. He wound his arm around slightly. 

“Arthur?” Charles called out, already in the tent. “What are you doing?”

Even though it was obvious what he was doing, he couldn’t seem to get the words out. “The saddles--Taima and Beeve--” 

“We’ll do that when the rain lets up. Get inside, you’re soaked!” He ducked back into the tent. 

“As if you’re much better!” Arthur said, stomping through the wet leaves and mud. He took off his hat and placed it on the tent post, then crept inside. 

The thick fabric of the tent seemed to be holding up against the rain, albeit a sight drip was coming down in the middle of the tent. “Looks like we gotta pick a side.”

Charles was already getting changed out of his clothes, down to his union suit. Arthur wondered if it was the same one he brought along for their first trip. “Which side do you want?”

“Don’t matter to me.” Arthur unbuttoned his shirt. “Just don’t wanna get any wetter.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” Charles pressed a hand against Arthur’s chest. Even his union suit was soaked.

“I guess not.” Arthur said, eyes locked with Charles’. His mouth felt dry again. “Y’know, I was wonderin’. Should I get some kinda lantern or somethin’? I think I have mine in my saddlebag. It’s just--It’s so goddamn _ dark _ in here, and maybe I --”

“Are you nervous?” Charles cut him off, seeing right through his question.   
  
“I’m not--” Arthur stopped, then quietly responded. “S’just been a long time.”

“I know.” Charles sat up a little straighter. “It’s been a while for me as well.”

“Prolly not as long as me, though.” 

“You’re probably right.” Charles said, thinking of what Arthur said after they first kissed. That it had been _ years _ since he kissed someone. If even _ that _ level of intimacy was a distant memory…

He decided not to pry. Arthur was too wound up as it seemed.

“Here, just relax. Lay down.” He scooted over to allow Arthur to lay down, even going under the dreaded drips of water. Charles pushed up on the bowing tent, the water rushing off either side of the fabric. When he turned back to focus on Arthur, he noticed a cloudiness to his expression. “What is it?”

“My shoulder--” Arthur said, rubbing it.

Charles gasped slightly, briefly forgetting what happened to him, instead focusing on the adrenaline rush after he killed the two robbers. So much happened in such a short amount of time… “Let me see.”

“Don’t think it’s bleedin’, just hurts.”

“Hold on--” Charles ducked out from the tent to get the lantern, the rain was letting up slightly. He went over to Beeve and Taima, both huddled under a large oak tree. “I know, girl, I know.” He hushed her as he went through the saddlebag. He also pulled out two oatcakes and fed both of them. “Just wait for a little while more.”

Charles crawled back into the tent, lantern in tow. “You have any matches?” He asked.

Arthur rested on his good arm, propping himself up. “You don’t got any?”

“I’m sure they’re well past soaked.”

“Check my bag. Might have somethin’.”

Charles searched through Arthur’s seemingly endless bag, finally pulling out a book of matches. Better yet, they were _ dry _. He struck a match, lighting the lantern. “Unbutton your shirt.”

“One way to get me outta these clothes, huh?” Arthur smirked, which quickly melted into a grimace as he lifted himself up, unbuttoning his shirt. Charles didn’t smirk back. He set the lantern down, away from the dripping that was starting again in the center of the tent. Arthur had his left side exposed.

“I’m going to unwrap your bandages.” Charles stated, being careful in unfastening the fabric. He unraveled the damp wrap, getting more nervous with each layer. What if his wound had worsened? What if the fall from Beeve caused him to go entirely back to square one?

In the dim lantern light, he could see the discoloration of his shoulder. A bruise was forming right over his raised wound. It was already a splotchy red circle on his pale skin. “How bad does it hurt?”

“...‘Bout a five.”

“_ Just _ a five? You were at a four this morning.”

“My fall was broken by all the mud.” Arthur reasoned. “It’s a five.”

“Okay.” Charles wasn’t convinced. He saw the way Arthur was tending to his shoulder earlier. “What if I do this?” He traced his fingertips over the skin, a ghosting of a movement. 

“It’s fine,” Arthur said, a little breathless. “You don’t gotta do this--” He didn’t pull away from Charles’ touch.

“I know I don’t.” He pressed his fingers against his skin a bit more. “Does that hurt?”

“No--is--is this what you had in mind for spendin’ our time differently?”

Charles’ eyes drifted from his fingers on Arthur’s shoulder to Arthur’s eyes. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“An’ I _ am _. You don’t gotta--” Charles pressed his lips to Arthur’s shoulder. His breath hitched. “Do that.” Charles kissed the discolored skin again, scooting closer to Arthur. 

“You don’t want me to do this?” Charles asked, his breath hot against Arthur’s skin.

“Only if you want to.” Arthur said in a low voice.

Charles scoffed. “I _ do _ want to, I always want to.”

“Always want to what?” Arthur asked tilting his head over to look at Charles placing delicate kisses on his shoulder.

Charles stopped, bringing his face closer to Arthur. “I _always_ want to touch you.” 

Arthur leaned forward, sinking into a gentle kiss. “I feel the same.” He kissed him again.

“You always want to touch yourself?” Charles laughed softly.

“Aw c’mon, you know what I mean.” Arthur said, resting his forehead on Charles’s shoulder.   
  
“I know.” Charles traced his fingers up and down Arthur’s exposed arm. “Does that feel good?”   
  
“It does.” Arthur kissed Charles’ neck, then traced his lips up his jawline. He kissed the lightning bolt shaped scar along his jaw. “What’s this from?” He asked, kissing the spot again.   
  
“Mm, when I was too young and too foolish to know when to back down from a fight.” Charles thought about the group of older boys cornering him in some small town in the west. He was about fifteen when it happened. At first he wasn’t sure why he was targeted, only when they followed him down an alley it all became readily apparent. He could have immediately ran away, but his ego got the better of him. He looked at these five boys, brandishing knives, and he thought he could take them. He managed to run away, if only after them holding his head against the wall and slicing his face up. By the time he got to his camp, heart racing, his shirt was soaked with blood. “I had to stitch it up myself.”

“_Jesus_.” Arthur said, placing another firm kiss on the scar almost as an apology. “If nothin’ else, you did a pretty damn good job sewin' yourself up.”

“It wasn’t easy.” Charles moved his head so he could look at Arthur straight on. “But I’m here.”

“And I’m _ real _ glad ya are.” 

Charles pulled Arthur into another kiss, thoughts of earlier rushing through him. All he could think of was how that woman pulled a gun on him. Had it not been for Arthur’s quick draw, they’d both be rotting into the mud. For those few brief seconds as he stared down the barrel of the revolver, he thought about how he wanted to touch Arthur one more time, how he wanted to tell him how he felt. He supposed now would be the time for either one of those things. 

Charles leaned back a little, breaking the kiss. 

“Somethin’ wrong?” Arthur asked.  
  
Charles shook his head, his damp hair swaying side to side. “I was just thinking about how we narrowly avoided death earlier.”

“Weren’t narrowly,” Arthur scoffed.  
  
“Well, narrow or _ not _, all I could think of was the last time we kissed.”

“Ain’t gonna be a last time, not if I can help it.” Arthur muttered, moving back in to kiss him. The rest of what Charles wanted to say changed into kisses, into his tongue pressing against Arthur’s. Charles leaned forward, gently pressing his hand against Arthur’s chest to lay back. He groaned slightly as he did.   
  
“Shoulder okay?” Charles asked.   
  
“S’fine, don’t worry,” Arthur grunted. He slid down so Charles was over him. His hair dripped onto Arthur. “Ah!” He said, slightly shocked by the water.

“What, your shoulder again?” Charles looked more concerned than last time.   
  
“No, your hair’s all wet!”

Charles sat back on his heels. “Oh, sorry.” He scrambled to find the strip of fabric to tie up his hair. When he motioned to get away to look on the other side of the tent, he felt Arthur’s hands grab his thighs.

“No, no, stay here.” His fingers pressed into his legs.

Instead, he tucked his hair behind his ears, gathering his hair so it could stay behind him if only for a moment. He lowered himself back down on top of Arthur, careful to support his weight to not hurt him. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” Arthur breathed out. His hands caressed Charles’ flanks. “This okay for you?”  
  
“Course.” His eyes drifted downwards, then back up to Arthur’s face. Something changed in both of their expressions. The slow realization that nothing could interrupt them. That the feelings they’d had for _ months _ could finally be expressed physically. Charles settled his body down a little further, kissing Arthur with slightly more fervor. His hips began to involuntarily rock against Arthur. Arthur’s hands rubbed up and down the wide expanse of Charles’ body.

“Mm,” Arthur grunted through the kiss. “Wait.” He said, breaking the kiss.

“What is it?” Charles panted. He propped himself up with one of his forearms.

“I hate to sound like some kinda shrinkin’ violet or somethin’, but I don’t think I’m _ ready _ for--for _ all that _.”

A lot was encompassed in “all that.” Charles smiled shaking his head. “That’s fine. I don’t think either of us are prepared enough.”

“Sorry, I jus’ wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

“There’s only _ one _ page right now. And that’s okay.” 

They went back to kissing, Arthur slightly more confident in whatever was going to happen next. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be something completely foreign to him.

Charles’ hand dragged down Arthur’s union suit, undoing the buttons as he went. He grabbed the end of his right sleeve, allowing Arthur to tug his arm out. Charles took a moment to look at Arthur, all hairy and bruised. He was beautiful. He slid his warm hand down his chest. He watched Arthur’s expression in the orange glow of the lantern. He looked..._ comfortable _ . At ease.   
  
Just in case, Charles asked, “Is this okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He rubbed his hand up near his shoulder blade.

Instead of answering, Charles changed his position. He moved to lay next to him, his leg draped over Arthur’s. His hand continued lower still, past his stomach, down further into the wiry hair of his groin. Arthur’s breathing got shallow.

“Hold on.” Charles said, removing his hand long enough for him to lick his palm. Arthur did his best to commit that image to memory. He spread his legs a little as Charles dipped back down under his union suit. He wrapped his hand around him, his grip gentle. “Tell me if I need to change anything.”   
  
Arthur nodded, his mouth too dry to respond. It felt weird, having someone else do this to him. Charles’ hand was so large and yet so soft. He tried not to chase the feeling already building in the pit of his stomach. He arched his back, tilting his head upwards. His moans were truncated and breathy.   
  
“Just relax, Arthur. It’s okay.” He placed a kiss on the side of his neck, almost in the same spot as when he nearly got strangled in the cornfields. Charles placed another kiss further over, sucking at the skin slightly. His hand picked up the pace and he tightened his grip a little more. The feeling he’d tried to ignore below his stomach came barrelling to satisfaction all too quickly.

“_ Charles--Char-- _” Was all Arthur could get out before he grunted. He shook as he climaxed, curling his toes and gripping the bedroll. It felt as if all the tension from earlier melted away. “I’m sorry, m’sorry,” he breathed, even as he was coming down. 

“Don’t be sorry.” Charles said softly. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.’’ He waited for Arthur’s breathing to slow, then he gave him one last tug before finding a rag to wipe his hand off. He decided on using his bandana, which needed to be cleaned anyway. He’ll just have to remember to wash it before a robbery. His nose crinkled at the image of using the dirty cloth as a mask. How unpleasant.

Arthur watched him clean his hand off. “It—It’s just been—well, you know.”

Charles _ did _ know. “Years?”

“_ Years _.”

“Hm,” Charles tossed the rag to the corner of the tent. He figured they would need it again. “How’d you survive all that time?” He was half-joking with his question, but he also wanted to know more. Wanted to know _ everything _.

Arthur displayed his hands, wriggling his fingers. “_ This _ is how.” He laughed, still feeling light from what just happened.

Charles laughed. “Fair enough.” He looked back at the rag. “You can’t remember the last time?”

Arthur thought for a moment, although he mostly wanted to make it look like he was deep in thought. He knew _ exactly _ when the last time was, but he didn’t want to dampen the mood, no pun intended. “Can’t say I do.”

“_ …Really _.”

“I dunno, s’been _ that _ long.” He kept his face stern. “What about—”

Charles tilted his head back and forth, trying to determine the last time. “For me it’s probably been a handful of months, seeing as you ruined the past couple of times.”

Arthur laughed. “Okay, maybe the first time I’ll give ya, but the second was all you.”

“You were the reason for it!”

“I didn’t personally come into the room and pull her off of ya!”

Charles laughed, laying back down next to him. “Fair enough.”

Arthur propped his head up with his good arm, facing towards Charles. “How _ was _ your last time? Your actual last time, without me messin’ it up.”

Charles put his hands over his face, sighing. “You really want to know?” He asked through his hands. 

“Yeah,” he lazily placed kisses along his neck. “I do.”

“Your beard is itchy,” Charles pushed his shoulder up to get Arthur out from the crook of his neck.

“You love it,” Arthur smiled against his neck, placing another kiss as an afterthought.

Charles smiled softly. “I do.” He could feel Arthur’s eyes on him. “You still want to know?”

“If ya don’t mind.”

Charles wasn’t sure what he was getting at, either living vicariously through him or otherwise, but he obliged.

Charles closed his eyes. “Must’ve…hm, must’ve been way back in Blackwater.”

“That long, huh.” He ghosted his fingers along the buttons of his suit.

“Not really much of a chance since then, ‘sides the times you already know about.”

“Mm, fair enough.”

“It was probably a day or so before everything went wrong.”

“Were you nervous?”

“About the heist?”

Arthur nodded. He unbuttoned the top couple of buttons on his underwear. It was still damp from the rain.

“Of course I was. Maybe looking back I knew it was going to go wrong.”

Arthur placed a kiss along his collarbone. “You wanted a distraction.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “something like that.” He shut his eyes, as if trying to remember a distant memory. “I went to the saloon down there and found one of the working girls.”

“What was her—”

“Jennifer, or maybe Jessica.” Charles shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

Arthur unbuttoned Charles’ union suit more. “Then what?”

“Then we went to one of the rooms, I paid her, and...we had sex.” He felt Arthur’s calloused hand move under the fabric of his union suit. His fingers stroked down to his midsection. 

“Was it nice?”

“It was fine. A good stress reliever, if nothing else.” Charles answered impassively, looking over at Arthur with a quizzical expression.

“What kinda things did she do?” His hand slid down his flank. 

Charles looked over at him again. “…where are you going with this?”

“What’chu mean?” His hand stopped roaming.

“I mean—” He sat up a little, resting on his elbows, “Are you doing this for guidance or for a distraction?”

Arthur shrugged, removing his hand from Charles’ union suit. “A distraction, I s’pose.”

He huffed incredulously. “Why would—a _ distraction _?”

“I dunno, so I can help return the favor. Make you think ‘bout other better things as I’m busy fumblin’ around.”

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. “Didn’t we talk about this just the other night?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s _ lookin’ _ at me—”

Charles grabbed Arthur’s hand, clasping it firmly. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know what I meant last night.”

Arthur’s blue-green eyes searched his face. Finally, practically in a whisper, he said “Okay.”

“Don’t ask me to think about other people when I’m with you.” His grip on Arthur’s hand lessened. “I didn’t ask you to think about Mary.”

Arthur clenched his jaw even at the thought. “I know.”

“I _ know _ you know.” Charles laid back down. “And that’s what makes it even more frustrating.”

“M’sorry.”

He sighed. “It’s okay.”

A pause. Arthur rested back on his side. Charles kissed his temple.

“Let’s start over.”

“You’re sure?”

“If you want to.”

“’Course, as long as you don’t mind some guidance.”

Charles smiled. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“So…” Arthur cleared his throat. “Have you done this before?”

“With someone else?”

“‘Sides me, now.” 

Charles shook his head. Arthur admired his long hair framing his face. “I just did what I like to do. Or what I like people to do with me.”

“Ah, okay.” A pause. “You really hadn’t done it with anyone else? Not even with that boy when you were on the reservation?”

“What?” It took half a second until he realized what he was talking about. “Oh, no. We didn’t--we just kissed a couple of times.”

“Mm.” 

He thought of _ why _ Arthur was asking if he’d had any other partners. “...Was I _ really _ that good?”

Arthur turned bashful. “Maybe it’s just been a long time, but it felt real nice. An’ for the record I don’t normally come that quick.”

Charles laughed slightly. “I figured you didn’t. I wasn’t thinking anything like that.”

“Jus’ so I’m clear, then.” He laid back down next to Charles, moving in closer. He kissed at his neck. Charles started to laugh.

“My beard?” 

“It’s _ticklish_.” 

Arthur rubbed his face back and forth against his skin. Charles started to shake, laughter building up in his chest.

“Gonna have to stop me, then.” Arthur said before Charles pulled him into a kiss. “Mm--” Arthur said, his lips against Charles’. He slotted a leg in-between the other man’s legs. 

It felt nice, wrapped up with him like this, the rain coming down outside. Even feeling Charles’ cool damp hair on his face was nice. His hands slipped under his union suit, Charles gasping at his cold hands. “They weren’t cold earlier.”  
  
“Wasn’t using 'em for a while, sorry.” Arthur pulled them out and rubbed them together. After warming them up, he put them back on his skin. “Better?”   
  
“Yeah,” Charles breathed, arching his back into Arthur’s touch. 

“Beautiful, just beautiful.” Arthur placed kisses down his chest. Charles’ stomach quivered at his stubble along his skin. “You really _ that _ ticklish, Charles?”

“Yes,” he said through laughs. “Don’t tell anyone at the camp. I’ll never live it down!”

“Wouldn’t tell a soul.” And that was true. He wanted to preserve this wonderful secret between them. Wanted to encase it in amber. Carve it in stone. Anything to make this moment last forever.

He went back up to kiss Charles, hands sloping down his body further. Now was the tricky part. Breaking the kiss, he spit into his hand. It was much less sensual than when Charles did it.

“Smooth.” Charles quipped, watching Arthur curl his hand around the spit.   
  
“M’tryin’, okay!” Arthur said, a little embarrassed. He adjusted his position to lay next to Charles. He propped himself up on his elbow, sticking his hand down the front of his underwear. He wrapped his hand around him, then looked down to see. “Nice.” Arthur said, giving Charles a smirk.

“I thought we were saving compliments for later.”   
  
“Didn’t know that was in the agreement.” He ran his hand up and down. It seemed pretty simple thus far, not too unlike how he did it alone. 

Despite wanting to keep up with the ruse, Charles inhaled sharply. “Ah, just like that.”

“You sure?”

“_ Very _.”

“Okay then.” He made sure to keep his grip the same, although he twisted his hand slightly, just to experiment if Charles liked it as much as _ he _ did--

“Mm, don’t twist your hand.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to.” He moved closer to Charles, kissing at his neck. He moved up to his earlobe, flicking it with his tongue. Charles gasped.

“What _ was--that _?” His half-lidded eyes looked over at Arthur. “It felt--”

“Sorry, I was jus’ tryin’ somethin’.”

“Felt good.” Charles thrusted into his hand a little. 

Arthur moved back over to his ear, nibbling it slightly. Charles moaned quietly. 

Arthur was learning so much tonight. 

He tightened his grip slightly, moving a little faster. 

“You’re twisting again.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He moved to suck at Charles’ neck. He lightly bit his skin, scraping his teeth against his neck. Charles shivered slightly. Arthur got into a pattern of biting and sucking, all the while his hand was moving at a consistent pace.

After some time (including Arthur needing to spit in his hand again), Charles was getting close. He felt the heat build up in his stomach. “Arthur--” He said softly, hand holding the back of Arthur’s neck. 

“Go on, Charles.” Arthur placed a kiss on his forehead.

Charles arched his back, groaning slightly. He didn’t make much noise as he climaxed. The hand on the back of Arthur’s neck was in a death grip, and his breathing was heavy. Signs of needing to be quiet his whole life. Arthur understood. He kissed him softly as he came down, then he rested his forehead against Charles’.

Arthur took his messy hand off of him, trying to find the rag. “It’s in the corner.” He heard Charles say. His voice sounded soft and calm. 

“Thanks.” He snatched the rag, wiping off his hand. He looked back at Charles, who was already buttoning up his union suit halfway. He put the rag back in the corner. “You know, we could just leave it out for the rain to wash it--”

“No, we’re not doing that.” Charles shook his head. He scooted over on the bedroll and patted the spot next to him. “Not right now, at least.”

Arthur crawled back to Charles, facing him as he laid down. He _ had _ to know. “Was that good?” 

“Either it’s been too long, or it was really good.”  
  
“Or both.” Arthur smiled.

Charles smiled back. “Or both.” 

“Oh, uh, sorry ‘bout the hand twistin’.” 

“It’s okay, it just felt odd. I assume that’s your personal _ touch _?”

“Yeah, it can be.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind.” Charles draped an arm around Arthur’s waist. “Probably should untack the horses.”

“Then we’ll get wet again.” Arthur groaned.  
  
“Imagine how Taima and Beeve feel.” 

Arthur sighed, gaining the energy to go out in the rain again. “In a minute.”

“Okay, a minute.”

The two of them slipped to sleep before they knew it.

\--

  
  


_ Once again, he found himself strung upside down. The chains were cutting into his ankles. A familiar scene, a familiar feeling. His head felt like it was going to explode. His vision was obscured due to the burlap sack. Looked like Colm did a hell of a job tying it tight. _

_ Mustering up all the strength he could, he craned his torso over to the slowly melting candle. A glint of light caught his eye through the weaving of the burlap. A nail file. He swung over, ankles splitting with the movement, managing to snatch the file. _

_ He gripped the handle of the file with his dirty hands as if it were a lifeline. He inhaled deeply, then swung himself up to the top of the chains. As he grabbed the lock of the chains, it felt like his arm was ripping out of his socket. He bit his lip, trying to keep his voice down. Breathing heavy, he felt for the keyhole in the lock. After a few missed jabs, he stuck the file into the lock, jimmying it open. He fell with a loud thud. He laid still for a moment, straining his ears to hear any voices outside. _

_ He heard the basement door open. Footsteps descending the stairs. _

_ Arthur scrambled from the floor, crab walking back from the chains. Feeling short of breath, he backed himself into a corner of the room. He panted, waiting for the repercussions. _

_ The footsteps seemed different. Softer, taking their time to go over to him. Either it was Colm trying to make Arthur sweat, or it was— _

_ The steps stopped. Arthur tried to see who it was, but the brightness of the person’s lantern too bright to make out any features. _

_ The figure set the lantern down. Arthur heard their arm reach out. He flinched. _

_ “Arthur,” the voice said, “It’s me.” _

_ “Ch-Charles?” _

_ “Let’s take this mask off.” He gently untied the sack from his head. His vision was flooded with the bright light of the lantern. He kept his eyes closed, then blinked a few times as he looked at Charles. _

_ He blinked one final time, the vision of Charles turning quickly to Colm. _

_ “Thought you could escape, did ya?” Colm asked, his smile making Arthur’s stomach churn. _

_ Arthur scrambled away, limbs feeling weak. He crawled up the stairs. He felt Colm’s hands grab his ankles, nails digging into the wounds. “Get offa me,” Arthur groused, trying to kick his way out of Colm’s grasp.  
_

_ “You’re lucky I’m here an’ not one of my men.” Colm grunted, struggling to keep his hands around Arthur’s ankles. He thought after three days that the man would be too weak to put up a fight. “Otherwise they woulda killed you long ago.” He dragged him back over to the chains. Arthur’s fingers scraped at the dirt floor, fingers catching on the file. He grabbed the file, groaning as his arm stretched to grip it. He slid the dirty file under his union suit sleeve. His kicking became weak, then ceased, playing dead like an opossum. _

_ “Think you’ve had too much action for one day, cowboy.” He flipped Arthur, all dead weight, onto his back. He went to lower the shackles to string him up again. As he was distracted, Arthur unsheathed the nail file, stabbing Colm in the thigh. He dug it in as far as it could go. _

_ “You son of a _ bitch _ — ” Colm screamed. His hands went to the blood that was seeping through his trousers. He fell back, deciding whether or not to take the file out. Arthur crawled on his hands and knees away from Colm, bracing himself for the stairs. “ _ He’s getting away _ !” He heard Colm shout. _

_ The adrenaline kicked in. Suddenly, he didn’t feel any pain in his limbs. No lethargy, nothing. His vision blurred, finding the closest O’Driscoll horse he could find. He heard yelling, gunfire, but it didn’t matter. He kicked at the horse’s sides, making him go as fast as he could. He looked back at the property – a rundown house in the middle of nowhere, trashed by Colm’s men – and wheezed out a laugh. His laughter turned delirious, his sides aching as he caught his breath. A tickle in his throat grew to all out hacking and wheezing. He spit out a glob of yellow mucus. _

_ Now it was just a matter of getting home. The adrenaline wore off, his body felt like a husk. He fell forward, gripping the horse’s mane for support. _

\--

Arthur jolted awake. The lantern was still burning, the oil down to the very last bit of the wick. The storm had finally stopped, but the rainwater caused the tent to bow further, the dripping remaining a constant like the ticking of a clock. It was starting to form a puddle in the middle of the tent. The bedroll was slightly damp. Arthur scooted more towards Charles, who was facing the other way. 

“Mm,” Charles groaned slightly. Arthur moved his hair so they could share the pillow.

“Sorry,” he said, burying his face in his hair.

“Nightmare?” Charles asked groggily. 

“No,” Arthur said. “More like a memory. I’ll tell ya later.”

There was a long pause of him trying to get his sleepy brain to process the situation. “…The horses.” He realized.

“I’ll go an’ take their saddles off.” Arthur rubbed his eyes. 

“You don’t have to.” Charles was drifting back off to sleep.

“Won’t take long. I’ll be back.” He crawled out of the tent, not bothering to put on his boots. The mud was cold under his feet.

The horses, although soaked, seemed fine. They were huddled together under a tree. Arthur couldn’t help but apologize to them. “I’m sorry, we got a little distracted.”

Beeve snorted.

“All right, I’ll unsaddle ya both.”

Arthur placed the saddles on a nearby log, left arm straining as he carried them. Curious, he checked the saddlebags for the cuts of elk. He couldn’t find them.

“That’s strange.” Was all he could muster. He grabbed a rag and then closed the flap on the saddlebag. No use in searching for them now.

Before getting into the tent, he wiped off his muddy feet. He threw the rag in the corner to join the other dirty rag. 

As he crawled back to the bedroll, he looked up at the sloping canvas. He put his hand up, forcing the water to flow to the front of the tent. Charles groaned at the splash. “Go back to bed.”

“It was either that or the tent collapsin’ on us.” Arthur muttered, finding his spot back on the bedroll.

Charles made a vague noise. He turned around and wrapped his arm around Arthur’s waist.

\--

The two of them woke up around the same time.

It was a slow waking up, the kind that one only gets after a night of deep sleep. Well, for Charles it was a deep sleep.

So deep, in fact, that he asked, “Did you wake up last night?” They were still lying in bed, comfortable under the covers.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Mm, nightmare?”

Arthur shook his head. “Tell ya later when I’m a little more awake.” He buried his head back in the crook of Charles’ neck.

“C’mon, we can’t stay in bed all day. We should probably get back to camp.”

“Who says we can’t?”

“I say!”

“I can’t sway your opinion?” Arthur kissed his neck again. He opened his eyes a little bit more to find some darker splotches on Charles’ neck. “Oh _ shit— _”

“What is it?”

“I uh.” Arthur cleared his throat. “I gave you a couple hickeys last night.”

“Are you serious?” He got out of Arthur’s clutches, getting up to find a reflective surface. “_ Arthur!” _

“You can barely tell. ‘Sides, you got long hair.”

He found Arthur’s pocket watch and got enough of a view of his neck. Sure enough, two dark circles on the side of his neck. Like he got bit by some sort of large vampire. It wasn’t too noticeable, thanks to his complexion, but he’ll have to wear high collared shirts for the next couple of days. Charles shook his head, laughing at the situation. “Like a couple of damn teenagers.”

“I didn’t hear ya complainin’ last night.”

Charles tossed the pocket watch to the other bedroll. “I was a little distracted at the time.”

“Distracted with what?” Arthur asked slyly.

Charles rolled his eyes. “C’mon, get up. Let’s have breakfast.”

\--

Over breakfast beans and strong coffee, Charles asked Arthur again about his nightmare last night.

“Well, I don’t think it was a nightmare. Call it a ‘recovered memory,’ of sorts.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I remembered where Colm and his boys kept me.” 

“Were there any land markers?”

Arthur shook his head. “It was kinda in the middle of nowhere. Some old decrepit house.”

“Why do you think it was a memory?”

Arthur was silent for a moment. “It just seemed real. The pain, the way I escaped, how I stabbed Colm in the leg—”

Charles sputtered out his coffee. “Shit, you did?”

“At least in my dream I did. Although somethin’ tells me the next time I see him, he’ll be limpin’.”

“Sure hope so.”

Arthur sighed. “Maybe my dream’s all a best case scenario.”

“Could be, but would it make much of a difference if it weren’t?”

“Mm, prolly not.” 

A pause. “You really stabbed him in the leg?”

“Yep, with a nail file. Same one I used to get out of my shackles.”

“Damn.” He seemed impressed.

“You were in the dream as well.”

“Hope I wasn’t helping Colm out.”

“Nah, nothin’ like that. You were just a hallucination. You found me, but then it weren’t you.”

He finished off his coffee. “John and I were going to look for you.”

“No kiddin’?"

Charles nodded. “The night we were leaving, I think we had everything packed up, you stumbled into camp.”

“Now _ that _ I barely remember.”

“How’d you know how to get back?”

“I dunno. Call it a miracle or whatever.”

Charles thought for a moment. “Guess I’ll call it luck.”

“Mm,” Arthur said with a mouthful of beans. “Or fate.”

“Sure,” he laughed. “Fate.” He sat back, watching Arthur. “How’s your shoulder?”

“S’fine. The fall from Beeve prolly sprained it. Think I need to take it easy for a while.” He thought for a moment, a wily smile spreading across his face. “Well. Take it easy for huntin’. I can use my hand for--” He made a crass gesture with his hand. 

Charles scoffed. “Of _ course _ you can still do that.”

“What, do you not like--” He did the gesture again.

“Stop doing that!” Charles smirked. “You’re a grown man!”

Arthur smiled. “All right, I’ll stop.”

“Only if you’re doing that should you make that motion, anyway.” He gave him a sidelong glance.

“Are you propositionin’ me, Mr. Smith?”

He shrugged, playing it cool. “We have time.” 

Arthur feigned being in deep thought. “All right then.” He unbuttoned his underwear, then crawled into the tent. Charles followed closely behind.

\--

The two of them laid in the afterglow for a moment, panting and messy. Arthur was the first to get up to wipe himself down.

“This rag is nasty, Charles.” He said as we wiped his hand with the crusty bandana. It had been used to clean up too many messes. He tossed it to Charles despite his own reservations.

“As if I’m not aware.” Charles said, wiping his hand on the other side of the rag. “I was going to bathe before we left. I’ll wash it then.”

“Probably could use a bath as well.” He resisted smelling his clothes. “We could bathe together?”

“We could.” He gathered his makeshift towel. “I’ll make sure not to look down, since it’s _ cold _.”

“Listen,” Arthur wagged an indignant finger at him. “It _ is _ cold.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.” Charles gave him one last smirk before heading out of the tent. Arthur followed close behind. 

“Can I use your soap again?”

“‘Course, that’s why I brought it.”

The water was just as cold as it was yesterday. They both jumped in on the count of three, then yelped when they came up for air. 

“What was that one phrase you said yesterday?” Charles asked, shaking.

“What, colder than a witch’s tit?”

Charles laughed. “Yeah. I’m going to have to ask Hosea about that later.”

“It really amuses you that much?”

“It’s an odd term.”

“You ain’t wrong.” Arthur went to the shore for the soap. “Hey Charles?”

“What is it?”

“Can I wash your hair?”

Charles tilted his head slightly. “Why?”

Arthur shrugged. “Jus’ want to.”

“...Okay.” He turned his back to him. “Just don’t get soap in my eyes.”

“I won’t.” As he worked the soap into his hair with a lather, he laughed.  
  
“What is it?” Charles asked, eyes closed.  
  
“I just realized I’m one of those bath girls.” He pitched his voice up a couple of octaves. “Can I help you in there?”  
  
Charles shoulder shook as he laughed. “You’re doing a better job of getting my hair clean.”

“Ya mean it?”

“It’s nice having someone bathe you, but they’re always too gentle.”

“Mm, you like it rougher, don’t you?” His nails scratched Charles’ scalp gently.

“I pull you off _ twice _ and now everything is an innuendo.”

Arthur put that sentence to the back of his mind. He never thought he’d hear Charles say something like that. “I’m _ just kiddin _’.”

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Think it’s pretty good.” He dunked his head underwater, then came up for air and wrung his hair out. “Want me to return the favor?”

“Sure.” _ Shoar _. “As long as you’re not too delicate like those bath ladies.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

\--

They got dressed in clean clothes and went back to the camp. Wordlessly, they tore down the camp. Arthur felt a kind of sadness as they folded up the still-damp canvas tent. It was their home for the past few days. Arthur couldn’t help but imagine a life where it was just the two of them, day in and day out. He sighed thoughtfully, but kept his thoughts to himself. 

“I got somethin’ to tell you.”

“What is it?” Charles asked as he strapped the tent and bedrolls to Taima. He looked concerned.

“I couldn’t find the elk cuts. They ain’t in my satchel_ or _my saddlebag.”

“Do you think you lost ‘em in the fall?”

“Maybe. And maybe when we were rushing through the storm.”

“Hm.” Charles thought. “That’s...disappointing.”

Arthur just realized he’ll have nothing to show for the trip. “It is.”

“Maybe we’ll find something on the way home.”

“Mm. Maybe.” Arthur gathered his things, placing them on Beeve.

\--

They rode down the river, overflowing due to the rain. The rushing water was unbearably loud. Because of this, they rode in silence for the first hour or so of the trip. 

They cut through to a sidestream. “Christ _ alive _,” Arthur groaned. “Couldn’t hear myself think.”

“Tell me about it.” Charles rode alongside Arthur. He checked his watch. “We should be back by dinnertime.”

“An’ with nothin’ to show for it…” 

“Are you still disappointed about the elk?”

“How could I not be? The first goddamn elk I hunt after my injury, and I didn’t even reap the benefits.”

“But you did it, though.” Charles soothed him. “That should count for something.”

Arthur sighed. “Dutch wasn’t too excited about me bein’ gone. Hell, it was bad enough I was laid out for a _ month _ . I thought, maybe, if I brought something back, then he would be okay with me bein’ so absent.” A pause. “And then I fell on my goddamn arm, so I can’t even _ show _ him I’m capable of fightin’!”

“_ Arthur _.” Charles slowed Taima down. “Do you really think this was all a waste of time?”

There was a long pause. He slowed Beeve down as well. “No.”

“Then why are you acting like it is?”

“‘Cause we’re goin’ back.”

“We don’t have to go back--”

“No, it’s--” He huffed. “We gotta go back.”

Charles gave him a look, but kept his mouth shut. _ The undying loyalty... _ “Okay.”

“My arm ain’t that bad.” He spun it around in his socket. “I’ll just use my revolver with my right hand.”

Charles exhaled slowly. There was so much he wanted to say about Dutch. The way he acted upon Arthur’s disappearance was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach. He wasn’t going to look for Arthur, didn’t have the inklings of planning it the way he and John had. He kept that part away from Arthur. There was no need to stir the pot, so to speak. He stayed silent even at the mention of Dutch, choosing to keep his head down and help those who needed to be helped.

And Arthur was that man. He had been for a while.

How can he help him realize that he isn’t in Dutch’s best interests? If it came down to it, where would his loyalty be? Would they be with his mentor, his surrogate father, or with Charles?

Could he center Arthur the way Dutch seemed to center him?

These were all thoughts he pushed back down. There will come a time when all those questions will be answered. Charles feared when that time will come.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost ran Taima right into Beeve. He pulled on the reins. “What is it?”

“Those people fishin' down by the water. Look.” Arthur said lowly. 

Charles found the two figures he was pointing at.

_ O’Driscolls _.

“What are you going to do?”

He climbed off of Beeve. “Gonna have a talk with ‘em.”

“I’ll come with you.” He jumped down from Taima, following Arthur close behind.

Arthur’s heart was pounding in his chest. His fingers were twitching even at the sight of them. He wasn’t sure if he was going to kill them. It all depended on if they knew where he was kept.

One of the O’Driscolls caught sight of him. “Ah, you’re part of Dutch’s gang, ain’t ya?”

“Get lost. We’re off duty.”

Arthur drew his revolver. 

“What the fuck are you doin’? Are you deaf? We ain’t--”

Arthur pistol whipped him. They both heard a crack. Must have been his nose. The O’Driscoll screamed in pain.

Arthur directed his attention to the other O’Driscoll. “You.” He pointed his gun at him. “You recognize me?”

The man held up his hands. “Uh...no?”

“No? Well, maybe ya don’t recognize me since I ain’t chained upside down. Or maybe it’s because my face isn’t covered in a goddamn burlap sack!”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about--” Arthur shot the man in the foot. He fell to the ground.

“Maybe this’ll jog your memory.” He unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it to the side to show off the mangled bit of bruised skin that was his shoulder. “What ‘bout this? This ringin’ any bells?”

“Mister, I don’t know who you--” 

Arthur grabbed him by the lapels, dragging him over to the edge of the river. “You tell me one more goddamn lie, and I swear to god I’ll turn your brains into fish food!”

The man started to hyperventilate.

Charles noticed the other man pull out his gun and aim it at Arthur. “_ Don’t even try it. _” He said sternly, pointing his gun at him. “Put it down.”

The man under Arthur’s fists was starting to weep. “Listen, I weren’t a part of your kidnappin’, _ honest _! Colm didn’t trust me for it. He said I was too weak-willed.”

“I can see that much.” He stuck the barrel of the gun under the man’s chin. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill both of ya right now.”

“Because--I can--I can tell you where Colm is, sure! He’s in St. Denis!”

Arthur threw a glance back at Charles. He didn’t seem convinced. “Where in St. Denis? Last time I checked, it’s a pretty big goddamn city!”

“Mister, he’s--he’s been caught.”

“He _ what?!” _

“He’s--he’s set to hang in a few weeks.” The man swallowed audibly. “Honest.”

A pause. He searched the man’s face, trying to figure out if he recognized him from the house _ and _if he was telling the truth. He was sure he wasn’t one of the many men beating him and degrading him. Whether or not he was right about the first part remained to be seen.

With all the strength in the world, he let go of the man. “If I ever see either of you again, you won’t get off so lucky.”

“Thank you mister--” The man stumbled over to the other O’Driscoll. 

“Don’t thank me. Get the hell outta my sight.” He shooed them off with his gun. Then he remembered something. “Hey O’Driscoll!”

They both stopped to turn. 

“Either of you know if Colm’s got a limp now?”  
  
“Uh, yeah!” The one with the broken nose answered. “Had it for about a month now.”

Arthur nodded, pleased. He turned his back on the two men, who kept running.

“So my dream _ was _ true.”

“At least partially. They caught Colm, hm?” Charles asked, watching the men hobble away. “Do you believe him?”

“I dunno.” Arthur sighed, turning to face Charles. “Even if he has been caught, he won’t stay in for long. That man’s more slippery than Trelawny in oil.”

Charles put a hand on his arm. “You all right?”

The defensiveness and the intimidation role melted away with Charles’ touch. “Seein’ Colm swing won’t change anythin’. It won’t get rid of the memories, or the nightmares, and it sure as shit won’t make my arm better.”

“I know.” He gave Arthur’s arm a squeeze.  
  
“I just--” He pulled Charles into a hug. “I’m just _ tired _, Charles.”

Charles held him, stroking at the back of his neck with his thumb. “It’s okay. I’m here for you.”

Arthur held him tighter.

\--

Even with the slight intermission, they made it back to camp around dinnertime. The camp seemed surprised they were back so soon.

“That was a quick vacation.” Tilly joked, looking up from a particularly intense-looking game of dominoes with Hosea.

“Yeah, _ vacation _.” Arthur scoffed.

“Glad to have you both back.” Hosea called out. 

Arthur made a beeline for Dutch’s tent. Charles watched him go on, instead choosing to drop his things off at his bed.

“Arthur!” Dutch looked up from his (other) Evelyn Miller book. “Back so soon?”

“Colm’s been captured.”

A pause. Dutch closed his book. “_ What _?”

“Colm’s been--he’s been captured. He’s being held at a jail in St. Denis. He’s set to be hanged in a few weeks.”

“And how, pray tell, did you find out this information?”

“Charles n’ I were coming home, and I _ negotiated _ with a couple O’Driscolls.”

“Who’s to say you weren’t given false information? You and I _ both _ know men do desperate things in order to save their own hide.”

“I could just--_ look. _I could just tell.”

“Hm. Well…” He stroked his mustache in thought. “I might have to check the newspaper before making any _ rash _ decisions.”  
  
“As if the ‘peace treaty’ weren’t a rash decision…” Arthur muttered.

Dutch seemed surprised by the backtalk. “Well, _ this _ time I’m going to take my time to make sure this information isn’t falsified. Unless you want me to send you to St. Denis to check?”

Arthur clenched his jaw. “No.”

“That’s what I thought.” He picked up his book again. “Good trip?”

“Yes.”  
  
“Hunt anything?”  
  
It was easier to lie. “Yes, a deer, but we--we ate it all.”

“Good, you need some meat on your bones.” A long pause. “Good _ night _, Arthur.”

“Night, Dutch.”

“All right you terrible people!” Pearson announced, placing a ladle into the cauldron. “Eat up! Beef stew!”

As the camp all got up to get a bowl of stew, Charles looked over to see Arthur go to his tent instead. He got two bowls.

He gave Arthur some stew, although he seemed to be busy sketching in his journal. “You should eat something.” He said, placing the bowl on his end table.

Arthur flipped the journal around, showing him the room where he was kept. He drew a vague figure upside down. “This is what it was, Charles.”

“Oh, _ Arthur _.”

“M’gonna draw the house while I still have it in my memory.” He gestured to his head. “Thank you for the stew. And...well, for everything.”

“Don’t mention it.” He placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze before he left.

“Maybe it would be good to see Colm swing.” Arthur said as Charles turned to leave.

He looked back at him, at this man for whom he cared so deeply. His heart ached to even see the interpretation of his torture on the page. “Yeah, maybe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for the kudos/comments!! It always makes my day to see them <3


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